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i 









THE OLD COURTYARD 






THE OLD COURTYAED. 




NEW YOKE: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 
142-144 WoBTH Street. 


'f ZB 


COPTRTCHT, 1890, BY 
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 


THE OLD COUETYAED. 


PROLOGUE. 

It was a bright and crisp October morning*- 
The water, as it fell in shining drops into the basin 
of the little fountain in the midst of the courtyard, 
seemed to shiver as if it felt the warning of a coming 
frost ; the fuchsia blossoms hung their heads — the 
poor flowers knew their own time was nearly over, 
and also they missed the company of the butter, 
flies who usually kept up a merry chase in the 
sunshine that so often fllled the courtyard of the 
Golden Bear. 

Sometimes the canaries in their cages among the 
vine-arbors and the brilliant-hued butterflies hover- 
ing round the flowers seemed to be the only tenants 
of the old courtyard. To-day three persons stood on 
the round stones at the mouth of the arched stone 
passage that led from the courtyard into the place 
outside the Golden Bear. One of these persons 


4 


THE OLE COUBTYABE. 


was a fragile-looking woman, with such sweet dark 
eyes and a tender mouth. Her eyes were fixed on 
a fair, handsome young fellow who stood beside 
her. He wore the French uniform, and Madame 
de Vos was speaking to him in French. 

“ The two years will pass more quickly with you 
than they will with us, my friend.” She looked 
from him at a girl so like her that one guessed at 
once they were mother and daughter, and one also 
guessed that Madame de Vos must have married 
very young. The young girl smiled, first at her 
mother and then at her lover. 

‘‘ I think it is worse for Louis, mother, for he 
will be alone,” she said. ‘‘ I have you and my 
father — ^he will have no one in Algeria.” 

The young soldier’s eyes had not left the girl’s 
face. He took her hand in both of his. 

‘‘You are right, my best beloved. The days will 
be very long and the time will pass drearily with- 
out my Clemence. Ah, if your father had only 
consented, I could have got my discharge three 
months hence.” He turned to Madame de Vos — • 
“ There is no hope for my Uncle Jules, madame,” 
he said, “ and he has told my father that he leaves 
me everything when he dies.” 

Madame de Vos looked graver. 


THE OLD COUBTYABB. 


5 


‘‘It is not that that influences my husband, dear 
Louis. He thinks that our Clemence is young 
enough ; he says that in writing to one another 
in these two years of separation, you will learn to 
understand one another, and that you will both be 
happier afterwards for the delay.” 

Louis Scherer shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Good-bye,” said Madame de Vos. “ You will 
be constantly in our thoughts, my dear son.” 

He kissed her on both cheeks, and then the 
tender-hearted woman turned away and loitered 
by the fountain so as to leave the lovers alone. 

Louis drew Clemence within one of the vine- 
arbors, and put his arm around her. 

“ My darling, it breaks my heart to leave you; ” 
he kissed her again and again, and she did not 
shrink from him. 

“We will write very often,” she whispered. 

“ And when I come back we will never part 
again,” he answered. 

They stood silent, looking into one another’s 
eyes, feeling that they could not part ; and then 
the carillon rang out ten o’clock, and Louis Scherer 
started. 

There was only time to say adieu, and to hurry 
off to the railway station to join his invalid cap- 


6 


THE OLD COUltTYARD. 


tain, who had brought him to the old Flemish city, 
and also to the Golden Bear. Louis Scherer was 
an Alsatian, and his parents lived on the frontier, 
but he had entered the French army when he left 
college, and the regiment to which he belonged 
was already on its way to Algiers. 

Her mother came to the vine-arbor where Cle- 
mence stood still and tearless. Madame de Vos 
put her arm round her child and fondly kissed her 
flushed face. 

‘‘Courage, dear child,” she said. “We will 
look forward from month to month and they will 
soon go.” 

Clemence hid her face on her mother’s shoul- 
der. “ I believe I am silly,” she said. “ I felt 
just now as if I should never see him again. Ah, 
mother,” she raised her head and looked anxiously 
at the delicate face now turned from her ; “ you 
are coughing again. Come in and rest ; you have 
tired yourself for us this morning.” 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


7 


PAET I. 

CHAPTER L 

AT THE GOLDEN BEAR. 

On a hot August morning, in a quaint old town 
of Flanders, the sun shone brightly into the court- 
yard of the Golden Bear. 

Earlier in the morning the sun had tried to 
creep in through the low-browed arch that gave 
entrance to the courtyard from the little place 
outside it ; but the golden light had not succeeded 
in reaching farther tlian to the middle of the 
broad-vaulted entrance-passage — it just gleamed 
on the steps of the kitchen on the right of this 
passage ; but on the left, Clemence’s parlor, tlie 
house entrance, and the landlord’s bureau just 
beyond, remained in shadow. The sunshine, liow- 
ever, had not chosen to be baffled by the gray 
stone archway, so it soon climbed high enough to 
peep over the quaint roof of the large rambling 


8 


THE OLD COURTYABD, 


building, and poured down an intense glow of 
golden warmth into the courtyard at the end of 
the vaulted passage. 

The plash-plash of the little fountain tinkled 
merrily, and its drops shone like diamonds in the 
sudden brilliance ; gold fish darted to the surface 
of the water to warm themselves ; and the leaves 
of the tree fuchsias round about the basin show- 
ered prismatic hues through the sparkling water- 
drops. 

It was a small court, after all, but it was planted 
like a garden and it was carefully tended ; on three 
sides it was overlooked by the windows of the inn. 
Rustic arbors bordered it, and these had vines 
clambering over them which flung out occasional 
graceful sprays, fresh with green leaves and the 
slender tendrils. In these arbors round, pink- 
faced Belgians sat in the afternoons smoking pipes 
and cigars and drinking beer and coffee. No one 
was sitting in the arbors this morning. Every- 
thing looked as green and as well-ordered as if the 
gardener only had access there. It was not quite 
silent; yellow canaries in the harbors sang out 
loudly as the sunshine gilded their cages; this 
was all the life ; but for the noisy birds and a few 
peacock butterflies that darted their golden colors 


THE OLD COURTYARI). 


9 


in and out between the tall fuchsias, the court- 
yard basked in the sunshine in its own still fashion. 
The small round paving-stones became hotter and 
hotter, and the spray of the fountain dried as soon 
as it splashed to them. 

The quiet scene seemed to be waiting for an 
actor to move across it. 

There was a glass door between the two arbors 
that faced the vaulted passage. This door opened, 
and old Madame de Vos came forward into the 
courtyard primly quilled. 

‘‘ Pouf ! ” she shook her cap. This heat will 
stifle me.” 

She pulled the large hood of her long black 
cloak over her cap till she left only the snowy 
muslin strings in sight, and waddled across the 
courtyard as fast as she could to the welcome 
shade of the passage. 

“ Elodie, Elodie,” she cried loudly, where, 
then, is Mademoiselle Clemence ? ” 

No answer coming, Madame de Vos went on to 
the kitchen door. 

It stood open, and through the doorway glowed 
a dull stifling heat, hotter than the sunsliine in the 
coui'tyard, for this heat was reflected again and 
again with interest from the brass pans and pots 


10 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


of all shapes and sizes that hung glittering on the 
walls. 

Everything shone nobly within the kitchen 
except Elodie’s face, and that was pale and thin 
and matched fittingly with her small, erect body. 
The cook wore the same sort of snowy cap that 
Madame de Vos did, but here all likeness between 
the two ended. The bulky, pink-faced dame who 
filled up the kitchen doorway would have made 
three such women as the slight active cook of the 
Golden Bear. 

It was curious to contrast Elodie’s peaked chin 
above the large, carefully tied bows of her cap 
strings, with the triple rows of pink fat which 
seemed to rest on Madame’s snowy puffs of white 
muslin. 

‘‘ Heavens ! was there ever before such heat ! 
Pouf ! ” The fat-faced old lady turned up her 
pale blue eyes as if they also suffered. 

“ Well, then ! Why does madame come into it ; 
there is no need.” Elodie spoke very gravely over 
one shoulder, — she was busy trussing fowls for the 
table cChdte. 

Where is Mademoiselle Clemence, I say ? I 
want her*” 


THE OLD COTTRTYABD. 


11 


‘‘Here I am, grandmother? What do you 
want ? ” 

There were three doors on the left side of the 
passage facing the kitchen. The largest was the 
entrance to the inn, and on either side of it were 
the landlord’s counting-house and his daughter’s 
parlor. Clemence’s fresh soft voice came from 
this last doorway. 

“ Come here, child, come, and then Elodie can 
hear the news at the same time. Ah ! What have 
I done that all the family affairs should be thus 
thrust on my shoulders ; yes, this is indeed trying 
news.” She heaved her shoulders, which certainly 
looked broad enough to carry a goodly store. 

Elodie turned sharply round, her withered face 
full of interest, while Clemen ce crossed the pas- 
sage ; a glad, dancing light showed in the girl’s 
eyes, and a soft flush rose in her cheeks. 

A minute ago Clemence could hardly have 
been called pretty ; she had looked so pale, and her 
large thoughtful eyes had wanted color till the 
flush on her cheeks made them glow. 

“ Well, child, your aunt. Sister Marie, is ill in 
her convent at Bruges, and the superior writes to 
say that one of us must go to her directly. What 
is to be done ? It would kill me to go, Clemence ; 


12 


THE OLE ComTYAttE, 


you know I could not travel in such heat ; besides, 
how could I leave the Golden Bear while your 
father is away? You must go, Clemence ; you only 
can obey this summons. Read the letter, child.” 

The liquid eyes drooped, the soft warm flush 
faded out of the girl’s face, and she stood silent, 
her lips parted, her hands clasped together. 

“Well?” This came very impatiently from 
Madame. 

“ Grandmother ! ” the warm blood came rushing 
into Clemence’s face, and her words were quickly 
spoken. “ I cannot go to Aunt Marie ; you know 
why I wish to stay at home — Louis said in his 
letter that he might arrive at any moment to-day 
or to-morrow, and I must be here. I — I have not 
seen him all these months. Where is Rosalie, — 
why cannot she go to Bruges?” 

Madame de Vos shrugged her broad shoulders. 

“ Bah ! Rosalie is a mere child ; what use could 
she be to Sister Marie. It is useless to send 
Rosalie.” 

“ But we are not sent for to be useful.” Clem- 
ence pleaded, while she kept her large tender 
eyes fixed on the unyielding face. “ The good 
sisters love my aunt too well to give her up to the 
nursing of a stranger. They would not let me 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


13 


nurse her if I went to the convent. The letter 
says : ‘‘We wish her to see one of her own people 
again.” Dear grandmother, I have not seen Aunt 
Marie for so — so long, if she saw me she would not 
easily recognize me. Rosalie has been with her 
five years. She has only now left her, and Aunt 
Marie loves Rosalie dearly. Send her to Bruges, 
grandmother; how could I be absent when Louis 
arrives ? ” 

The sweet, imploring voice might have touched 
the grandmother’s heart through all the pink fat 
which incased it, but Madame de Vos hated con- 
tradiction, and it had struck her while the girl 
spoke that Clemence looked more than ever like 
her dead mother. Clemence had the slender, 
graceful figure, the transparent skin and dark hair, 
and above all the strange earnestness in the eyes 
and the resolute, fervent spirit which had in days 
gone by so bewildered Madame de Vos when she 
contemplated her son’s wife. 

Madame de Vos senior came of a pure Flemish 
stock. Her body and mind were alike solid and 
stolid. No member of her family had been slender 
or poor or dark-haired, neither had they shown 
their feelings in their faces ; she had therefore felt 
herself aggrieved when Auguste de Vos, her eldest 


14 


THE OLD COUHTTAUB. 


son, the landlord of the flourishing inn, the Golden 
Bear, had married Clemence de Triidin, the orphan 
daughter of a poor French gentleman, A love 
marriage, too, on both sides. 

What could be expected but that which had 
already happened ? What could her son expect 
of such a transparent, unusual-looking creature? 
Only a year ago the younger Madame de Vos had 
died of decline — a disease caused, her mother-in-law 
said, by a dislike of eating and drinking, and fond- 
ness for reading. 

Well, the sweet woman was dead, and her 
sorrowing idolizing husband was left with his four 
children to mourn the blank left in his life. 

Clemence was then twenty-two, and M. de Vos 
thought that she could take her mother’s place in 
the management of her two little brothers, but, be- 
fore he could rouse himself to settle anything he 
got an imperative summons to visit his mother at 
Louvain. ‘‘ What can you be thinking of, 
Anguste,” she said, When on his arrival he told 
her of his plans for the future. ‘‘ Of what use 
can Clemence be, I ask? Is she not betrothed to 
the Lieutenant, Louis Scherer ? And who can say 
how soon that young man may purchase his dis- 
charge and come home and marry her? And then 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


15 


I should like you to tell me, my son, what will 
happen ? ’’ She laughed as she saw a look of con- 
sternation in his eyes. Aha, my Auguste, it is 
indeed fortunate that you have a mother to think 
for you : yes, yes.” She rubbed her soft pink 
hands. That child, Rosalie, is already beautiful, 
and only sixteen years old ; she will be lovely as a 
picture before long. Do you think, my son, that 
it will be fitting to bring up a beauty like that at 
the Golden Bear with no better mentor than your 
cook, Elodie ? Bah — that is what it is to be a 
man ! ” 

When a man has dearly loved his wife, so dearly 
that life and everything belonging to it have lost 
interest and flavor after she has left him, he is 
easily managed ; and Auguste de Vos, being a duti- 
ful son, began to see, after a few more maternal 
exhortations, that it might be well for his girls if 
their grandmother took up her abode at the Auri 
d’Or. He naturally did not call to mind his 
mother’s faults ; he had not seen much of her since 
his marriage ; and his wife had rarely grieved him 
by complaint of the petty unkindnesses she had had 
to suffer during the old lady’s visits. 

Madame de Vos had never forgiven the dark- 
eyed wife’s want of fortune, and she had to the 


16 


THE OLD COUBTYABH, 


end reminded her daughter-in-law that she was the 
only wife of a de Vos who had not enriched her 
husband. 

Now, as she stood looking at Clemence the old 
dislike remained a dislike which had become in- 
tensified by her son’s blind devotion to his wife. 

“Just like her mother,” thought the grand- 
mother, then aloud and severely : 

“ Clemence, you talk follies — ^you are the oldest, 
and you must go to Bruges.” 

“ Why need any one go to-day ? ” Elodie had 
left her fowl-trussing, and she stood upright with 
her hands behind her, looking at Madame de Vos. 
“ The master will be home to-night ; he will go 
to-morrow morning to Bruges, and he will take 
Mademoiselle Rosalie, and she can stay with Sister 
Marie till the poor soul recovers — (or dies),” she 
said under her breath. “ There, it is settled.” 

The pink on the old lady’s face deepened, but 
she spoke as slowly as ever. 

“ Chut ! You are not a mother, Elodie ; it is 
not possible for you to know a mother’s feelings. 
My daughter, my beloved Marie, must not be kept 
waiting to humor the fancies of a love-sick girl. 
Fie, then, Clemence, I am ashamed of you ; when 
I was young my loves came after me ; they waited 


THE OLE COVETYAUE. 17 

my pleasure ; I did not neglect my duties to wait 
for them. Fie, then.” 

Madame de Vos walked away to the parlor 
without waiting for an answer. 

Clemence's eyes sparkled. 

‘‘ It is too unjust, too hai’d ; if only my father 
was at home ; ” she said this to herself, but Elodie 
was studying her face. 

The old servant put her lean brown hand on the 
girl’s shoulder. 

“ Go to Bruges, dear child,” she said. ‘‘ The 
grandmother is well able to go herself, and we 
could do without her ; but if Sister Marie should 
become worse you would grieve that you had not 
obeyed the summons to her bedside. Go then, at 
once. Mademoiselle, and who knows but that you 
may be able to come back this evening or early to- 
morrow.” 

Here the savor of the various stew-pans on the 
charcoal stoves within the kitchen warned the 
cook that she must return to her duties ; and to 
tell the truth she thought her young mistress was 
over-anxious about her lover’s arrival. 

“ Well, well,” she said, cheerfully. Monsieur 
Louis will not return to-day, I am sure of it ; the 

sooner you go the sooner you come home,” and 

2 


18 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


she went back to her stew-pans. Elodie was, 
however, still sore with Madame de Vos, and she 
therefore gave a sharp scolding to the man and 
the maid who served under her, and who had been 
idling during her short absence. 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


19 


CHAPTER IL 

EOSALIE DE VOS. 

Plash*, plash went the diamond drops of the 
fountain ; the canaries sang louder than ever, and 
the gold fish seemed to be listening, for they came to 
the top of the water and opened their wide mouths 
as if to say, ‘‘ Bravo.’’ 

Presently the glass door opened again ; this time 
it was not old Madame de Vos who came out into 
the sunshine. It was a fair, plump, but well-grown 
maiden, with golden hair wreathed in abundant 
plaits round her pretty little head. A very sweet 
and blooming creature — the bloom and sweetness 
of seventeen, that indescribable and sparkling 
charm of youth which fades so quickly, which a little 
extra sunshine withers out of the spring fl.owers. 
The soft, liquid-blue eyes, the delicate peach-tinted 
cheeks, the smooth white texture of the round throat 
with its exquisite creases, the firm, rosy lips, — all 
told of youth in its first freshness, and in Rosalia 


20 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


de Vos of youth conscious of its own beauty and 
eager to try its power. 

She looked about her, then, gathering a sprig of 
fuchsia, she fastened it at her throat, and with a 
soft sigh of content she seated herself in the corner 
of one of the arbors. 

“ It is nice to be at home again,” she said to her- 
self. Why, I was only twelve years old when I 
went to Bruges ; what a baby I was ; ” she sat smil- 
ing, looking prettier than ever as a little roguish 
dimple showed on her cheek. “ Home is certainly 
not so dull as our convent was. But, dear me, it 
might be much livelier, oh, ever so much. Why 
need our rooms be shut off from the rest of the house 
so that we never get a chance of seeing the people 
who stay here ; and why does Clemence say that I 
should not come out here after one o’clock ? ” She 
stretched out her arms and yawned. It is so pro- 
voking to be so near to life and new faces and to 
be forever shut up with grandmother and Clem- 
ence.” She yawned again. It was too hot to stir 
out of the arbor or she would have crossed over to 
the passage so as to look into the place at the fur- 
ther end of it. 

‘‘ Oh, dear, it is duller than I thought : at the 
convent I had my lessons, and they filled up the 


THE OLD COUBTYABD, 


21 


time ; there was embroidery, too, that had to be 
done ; but here I needn’t do anything, and I have 
no one to talk to ; it is very well for Clemence, — 
she has a lover, and she is twenty-three ! How 
old she is ! I wonder what kind of a man Louis 
Scherer can be to care to marry so old a fiance. 
He must be ugly or stupid, I fancy.” 

The dining-room was beyond the kitchen, de- 
tached from the rest of the house ; it could only 
be entered from the courtyard itself. 

The clock struck one, and a sound of voices came 
up the arched passage. 

‘‘What does it matter?” Rosalie thought. 
“ Clemence and my father are both away ; there is 
none to mount guard; I shall stay. I am going 
to amuse myself.” She smiled brightly. “ Grand- 
mamma never scolds me ; the trellis makes a 
famous screen ; I can see every one and no one 
sees me ” — she shrank into her corner behind the 
vine leaves. 

The dinner bell began to ring loudly, and from 
thirty to forty guests came trooping into the court- 
yard, some from the inn and some from the place 
outside — they all, however, had hungry, expectant 
faces, for the table d'hote of the Golden Bear had 
a reputation. 


22 


THE OLD COURTYAEI), 


Alphonse, the stout head waiter, asked the 
oldest of the guests to preside in his master’s 
absence, and then, when the soup was served, he 
proceeded with calm solemnity to compound the 
salad dressing. 

The windows of the dining-room looked into the 
courtyard, and Alphonse stood facing them. Just 
as he was putting the finishing stroke, the vinegar, 
he started, and at least a double quantity of acid 
flowed into the thick yellow cream of which he 
was so proud. 

No wonder Alphonse started. With such a 
dinner going on as no inn in the town except the 
Golden Bear could boast of, an individual — a mili- 
tary man, too, by his walk — instead of hurrying into 
the salle as fast as possible (for the first course was 
almost done), this individual was deliberately 
crossing the courtyard in an opposite direction ; he 
was making for one of the arbors. 

Alplionse started and shook his head. Such an 
act was incredible, and meantime the salad was 
ruined. 

Rosalie saw the stranger as he came out of the 
arched passage, and she started ; he was coming 
straight towards her, and it was pleasant to the 
young girl to feel that she was more attractive 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


23 


than the savory fumes escaping from the open win- 
dows of the dining-room. But when the visitor 
came up to her, lie bowed and stepped back. ‘‘ I 
beg pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said, in a formal 
tone, “ I could not see plainly through the leaves ; 
I mistook you for Mademoiselle de Vos.” 

Before Rosalie could answer, he bowed again 
and said “ Pardon me,” and went away. 

Rosalie was vexed and mortified. ‘‘Fancy mis- 
taking me for Clemence ; ” then she paused and 
knitted her pretty eyebrows. “ How comes he to 
know Clemence, I wonder ? Did he come to see 
our father on business, and finding him out did he 
come to look for Clemence? No, that cannot be; 
if he asked Elodie as he passed, she must have told 
him that my sister has gone to Bruges. I must 
go to tell grandmother ; I want to know who he is 
— he is so handsome.” 

She was not daring enough to cross the court- 
yard, — that would have brought her in full view 
of the dining-room windows, so she slipped out of 
the arbor and into the house by the glass door, 
then up a back staircase which led to the family 
sleeping-rooms, and then down another staircase 
which led into Clemence’s parlor. 

“ I say, grandmother — ” Rosalie stopped ; — tho 


24 


THE OLD COUETYARD. 


handsome stranger sat talking to her grandmother. 
He seemed to be quite at home. 

“ Come in, my treasure,” her grandmother said 
in a caressing tone. Monsieur Louis, this is our 
Rosalie, whom you have never seen ; she is the 
flower of our house. Eh ! Rosalie, dear child ; 
this is Monsieur Louis Scherer.” 

The old woman looked from the blushing maiden 
and the handsome soldier. Heaven,” she said to 
herself, what a beautiful couple they would 
make.” 

Louis Scherer thought his future sister-in-law 
very pretty, and his looks said so while he shook 
hands with her. Madame de Vos smiled approv- 
ingly, and she pinched Rosalie’s hot cheek as the 
girl stood beside her flushed with surprise and 
confusion. 

“ You are thinking. Monsieur Louis, that the 
two sisters are not alike, and you are right. 
Clemence is a de Trudin in every way, but this 
child is a true de Vos — I should rather say Rosalie 
is a van Noorus, for she takes after my family 
absolutely. She reproduces my mother — we have 
always been fair and blue-eyed. Ah, yes, yes ; 
we were always pink and white and plump : it is 
sad when a race degenerates ! ” She sighed deeply. 


THE OLD COUBTYAllD, 


25 


but Louis Scherer did not answer, but kept on 
looking at Rosalie as if he could never tire of her 
face. 

Grandmother,” the girl said, softly, ‘‘ have you 
told Monsieur Scherer where Clemence is ? ” 

‘‘Yes, yes, sweet child, I have told Monsieur 
Scherer all about it. When your father returns 
he will settle what had best be done ; and now we 
will eat if dinner is ready.” 

The dinner was served in a room behind the 
parlor, and while Madame de Vos did full justice 
to every dish, Louis Scherer began to talk to 
Rosalie. 

“ How is it that I never saw you before ? ” he 
said, when dinner was over. 

“ I have been at the convent at Bruges these 
five years, and I only came home in the winter ; 
you went away before my holidays came. Were 
you here long? ” 

She looked up at him, but his full admiring gaze 
made her blush again. 

“We were here six weeks or so.” He spoke 
carelessly ; since he had seen Rosalie, that time 
seemed to have become very far off indeed. 

“Do you write to Clemence veiy often?” she 
said, saucily, and then to herself — “ Clemence will 


26 


THE OLD COUETYABD, 


come home to morrow, and then he will have no 
time to talk to me ; I shall make hay while I 
can.’’ 

“ Do I write often ? Oh, yes, I think so,” but 
his tone sounded indifferent; he sat pulling his fair 
moustache while he kept his eyes fixed on Rosalie. 

The young girl glanced at her grandmother. 
The heat and the dinner had together proved over- 
powering. Madame de Vos nodded in her chair. 
Rosalie looked frankly up into Louis, eyes and 
laughed. 

“Why does Mademoiselle laugh?” He drew 
his chair nearer hers. 

“ I do not know. You make me laugh ; I cannot 
help it.” 

Louis Scherer felt ruffled ; he repeated his ques- 
tion more earnestly. “ Will not Mademoiselle 
answer me ? ” he added. 

Rosalie sat blushing and smiling till Louis 
Scherer thought he had never seen anyone so 
distractingly lovely. 

“ You will think me silly. Monsieur,” she said at 
last, “but there was an old sister at Bruges — 
Sister Martha, — and she used to talk to us about 
men : she said they were ogres, and that we must 
beware of them always, and — and—” 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


27 


“ And you consider me an ogre. Thank you for 
your good opinion, Mademoiselle.” He tried to 
look very serious. 

“No, no, no; I did not say that.” She pouted 
her pretty lips in a coaxing fashion — she was 
afraid she had affronted him, and she wanted him 
to go on talking to her. “ I was only wondering,” 
she said, demurely, “ whether all the men in the 
world look as hard at people as — as you looked at 
me just now. It is perhaps for that reason that 
Sister Martha says men are ogres.” She laughed 
out so joyously, so like a child, that he could not 
feel aggravated. 

I ask a thousand pardons. Mademoiselle,” and 
he bowed ; then he bent over the laughing girl 
and whispered, “ It is your own fault if I look 
too much.” 

The words, or else the tone in which they were 
spoken, flushed Rosalie’s face more deeply than 
ever ; her eyes drooped till the golden lashes 
touched her hot cheeks ; for a moment her sauciness 
deserted her. It soon came back. 

“ Why do you call me Mademoiselle ? It seems 
to me absurd when we shall so soon be brother and 
sister.” 

Louis Scherer rose abruptly; he went to the 
window and looked out into the courtyard. 


28 


THE OLD COUBTYAItl), 


Come,” he said, “ we will go and sit in one of 
the arbors.” 

Rosalie pouted and looked vexed. 

“ You can go, but I cannot. I may only sit out 
there in the morning.” 

“ Every morning ! ” he looked at her over his 
shoulder : ‘‘ I wish it were morning then, — I want 
to see you sitting there again.” 

« Why?” 

“ Aha, that is a secret. You would only laugh 
at me if I told you what you seemed like, sitting 
there just now.” 

In that arbor ? And I never guessed who you 
were when I saw you coming across to me. How 
could I guess it was you ? I had fancied that 
Clemence’s lover was quite — quite a different 
person.” 

‘‘ What kind of a man had you fancied he was ? 
— tell me,” and he bent over her. 

No, Monsieur,” she shook her pretty head ; 
‘‘that is just what I shall not tell you. If I did — 
you — you — would perhaps find out what I think 
of you now.” 

“And what do you think of me now?” 

As they stood together in the window, Rosalie 
rested her arms on the cushioned ledge, and Scherer 


THE OLD COURTYABB. 


29 


was bending so closely over her that his face nearly 
touched her hair. She felt too happy to answer 
his question. 

‘‘ Hem ! ” said a sharp voice behind them, and 
they started apart. Elodie stood near the door 
with a plateful of cakes in her hand. There was 
a gloomy look on the face of the cook of the Golden 
Bear ; she turned to sleepy Madame de Vos, who 
had opened her eyes and sat yawning. 

I have brought these cakes,” Elodie said, 
stiffly. ‘‘ I told Alphonso to bring tliem in for 
dessert, but the booby forgot them. They are the 
cakes which Mademoiselle likes, so I have made 
them to-day for Monsieur Louis. Good day, sir ; 
I hope you are well ? ” but Elodie did not smile as 
she greeted the young soldier. 

Madame de Vos roused herself. 

‘‘Yes, yes, Elodie, that was a good thought ; the 
cakes are excellent. You remember Elodie, Mon- 
sieur Louis ? ” 

Louis Scherer Jiad already nodded ; now he said 
a few words of thanks. But the cook did not 
smile at him ; she went back muttering to her 
kitchen. Something had put Elodie out of temper 
this afternoon. 


30 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


CHAPTER III. 

A FALSE POSITION. 

Towakds evening the air cooled. Louis Scherer 
went and smoked in one of the arbors, while 
Rosalie lamented that the parlor window looked 
out at the side of the house. She could no longer 
see him. She stood drumming her fingers on 
the glass, or else she walked up and down like a 
restless animal. She felt impatient with every- 
one. Even her indulgent grandmother was forced 
at last to rebuke the girl’s idleness. 

“ Ma foi, Rosalie, what ails you?” she said; 
‘‘see, I have done six long rows of knitting while 
you have been tramping up and down. I thouglit 
they taught you to embroider at the convent ; let 
me see how you do it.” 

“Very well, I will get my work.” Rosalie 
looked sulky, but she opened the door that led to 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


31 


the staircase. As she did so, the door leading 
into the passage opened, and in came Louis 
Scherer. 

Rosalie turned back and let the door close 
again. 

‘‘ Madame,” the young fellow said politely to 
Madame deVos, ‘‘it is so cool and pleasant now 
outside that I hope you will allow me to escort 
you and your granddaughter. Shall we not take 
a little walk beside the canal ? ” 

The old lady smiled, but she shook her head. 
“ You are a charming fellow,” she said, “ and your 
offer is very ^kind, but I never take walks — my 
health would not support such a fatigue; and, 
beside, we expect my son, Auguste, in a few min- 
utes ; he will like to find us all together.” 

Louis bowed. 

“ I will then wait with you to receive him, if I 
may be permitted to do so, Madame.”. 

“ That is as it should be,” the old lady said, 
graciously. She looked at Rosalie, and she saw 
that the girl’s restlessness had subsided. She had 
seated herself, and was looking happy and peaceful. 

“ It is a pity that Clemence cannot remain in 
the convent,” her grandmother thought ; “ what a 
well-matched pair these would make.” 


32 


THE OLD COURTTAED. 


“ What have you been doing this afternoon ? ” 
Louis was saying to Rosalie. 

“ I ? Oh nothing. And you ? ” 

I have been very busy ; I have smoked two 
cigars, I have drunk a bottle of beer, and I have 
also had a nap out there in the arbor.” 

She laughed. ‘‘ Some people would call that 
idleness, but I see you are of my opinion, that life 
should be full of enjoyment.” 

He looked at her admiringlJ^ Yes, you would 
always enjoy everything, and you would make 
others enjoy life also.” 

She pouted, and her eyes looked sad. 

‘‘Ah, you don’t know how dull I felt this morn- 
ing,” she said. 

“ Before I came, or after ? ” 

But Rosalie did not answer. There was a sound 
of wheels in the courtyard, and horses’ feet came 
stamping on its hard round stone pavement. Ma- 
dame de Vos bustled to the door, and her grand- 
daughter ran to open it. There was much kissing 
on both cheeks between son and mother and father 
and daughter, and then Louis Scherer came for- 
ward and shook hands with Auguste de Vos, the 
landlord of the Golden Bear. 

De Vos was a fine, portly man of middle height, 


TnS: OLD COURTYARD. 


33 


with broad shoulders and a frank, sensible face ; 
he had a look of his mother, but, instead of her 
small, hard blue eyes, the son’s were dark, deep- 
set and full of kindly expression. He greeted 
Louis Scherer heartily ; he was delighted to see 
the man Clemence loved. He was disturbed when 
he learned her absence, but he said less than Ma- 
dame de Vos expected. He decided mentally to 
go and fetch Clemence home to-morrow, for he had 
found out long ago his mother always got the best 
of him in argument, and, much as he loved her, he 
did not always trust her judgment when his best- 
beloved child was in question. 

Rosalie and her grandmother soon went to bed, 
and then the two men sat and smoked in silence. 

At last Auguste de Vos rose from his chair. 

‘‘We are both tired to-night, my friend, after 
our journeys,” he said, “we had better leave the 
business to be discussed till to-morrow. There is 
a good deal to settle, you know. In your letter 
to me, announcing that you had purchased your 
discharge, you asked that the marriage should take 
place a fortnight after your return here. Well, it 
can be as you wish ; you and Clemence had better 
fix the day between you, the rest concerns me. I 
will fetch my daughter home to-morrow.” 


34 


THE OLD COlfETTAttH 


“ Yes,” Louis said, and then he stood silent. De 
Vos waited for him to speak again, but seemingly 
the young fellow was very busy putting his pipe 
into its case. 

‘‘Well, good-night, Scherer,” de Vos said, at 
last ; “ I am giving you the best thing I have to 

give. If I had known two years ago all that was 
going to happen, it is possible you would not have 
got my consent so easily.” 

The tremor in the full, strong voice moved the^ 
young soldier. 

“ Thank you : I will try to deserve her,” he 
said, and he held out his hand. “ Good-night, 
Monsieur de Vos.” 

When Louis Scherer came downstairs next 
morning, he found Monsieur de Vos and his 
mother drinking their coffee in Clemence’s parlor, 
and the landlord’s frank, manly face looked 
troubled. 

“ Ah, my friend,” (he shook hands with Louis), 
“I have had news for you. I have a letter from 
our Clemence ; she is to stay till the end of the 
week with her aunt. My sister is very ill, I fear. 
It appears possible that she may recover, and 
meanwhile Clemence’s presence comforts her. 
Still,” he smiled as he looked at Louis, “ I do not 


THE OLD COUBTTARD. 


35 


pretend to say what may happen when Clemence 
hears that you are here. She may come home at 
once, eh? ” 

Madame de Vos had sat silent; now she opened 
her dull blue eyes till they were quite round. 

Bah ! my son, why need Clemence hear about 
anything to disturb her. She promised to per- 
form this duty, and she will keep her word. Is it 
not, then, unkind to disturb her ? If she learns 
that Monsieur Scherer is here, who knows she 
may fret to return home, and that will do her 
harm. It is always wise to let well enough 
alone.” 

De Vos looked at Scherer. To his surprise the 
young fellow made no answer ; he seemed to be 
absorbed in drinking his coffee. In came Rosalie, 
fresh and blooming. She made many pretty ex- 
cuses for being late as she bent down to be kissed 
by her grandmother. 

‘‘ Little lazy one,” the old woman said, fondly. 
‘‘ But here is something to employ you Rosalie ; 
you will have to help me amuse Monsieur Louis 
till Clemence comes home, — she stays at Bruges 
till the end of the week.” 

De Vos got up from the breakfast-table, and 
liodded smilingly to the three. 


36 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


“Arrange it among yourselves,” he said. “I 
must go to my bureau, and leave you idle ones to 
your play till dinner-time.” 

Scherer looked after him with an irresolute ex- 
pression. Just then Elodie came in to clear away 
breakfast, and Madame de Vos settled herself in 
her arm-chair and began her everlasting roll of 
knitting. 

The young man cleared his throat nervously, 
and Madame de Vos looked up at him. 

“ 1 must say good-bye, Madame,” he hesitated, 
“ I think of leaving you to-day ; Clemence being 
absent, I am not wanted here. I am going to 
Alost to visit my father and mother. They have 
settled there during my absence. I have not seen 
them for two years.” There was a little pause, 
during which his three listeners digested his 
words, each after her own fashion. 

Elodie gave an approving nod. “ Good youth,” 
she said to herself. “He finds no pleasur-e in the 
household that our Clemence is not with.” 

There was quite a genial smile on her wrinkled 
face as she carried away the coffee-pot and table- 
cloth. 

Rosalie’s firm, full lips pouted redder than ever. 
“He shall not go,” she thought; “I have been 


THE OLD COUBTTARD, 


37 


counting on these four days, and I shall not lose 
the chance of amusing myself.” 

The grandmother’s eyes opened yet wider, and 
her pale colored eyebrows went up into her fore- 
head. 

Leave us to-day — ^leave us because Clemence 
is away,” she said to herself. ‘‘Did anybody ever 
hear such nonsense? That foolish fellow does 
not know what he is saying. Well, well, my 
Rosalie must open his eyes.” 

“ You are going away ! Surely, that would be 
too unreasonable, my dear friend ; ” she laid her 
fat hand on his coat sleeve. “ No, you must not 
go away; my son would think w^e had offended 
you. Besides, how can we tell whether Clemence 
may not return sooner, and how could we explain 
your absence. Think how disappointed she would 
be. Ah, tell me a little, how could we explain 
your going away, eh, Rosalie? but her grand- 
daughter stood bending over some flowers. 

The fair-faced, happy-looking young fellow was 
troubled, and trouble was a new and uncomfortable 
sensation to Louis Scherer. 

His father was a Frenchman, and he had taken 
service as a French soldier. Till now he had man- 
aged to get through life without trouble. He was 


38 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


extravagant, and he certainly had got into debt 
more than once, but his good old father had ar- 
ranged those troubles for him ; they had never 
become lasting cares. Louis was an only child and 
his parents idolized him. He had always found 
plenty of friends among his comrades, and women 
had unfailingly smiled on him. 

Till he saw Clemence de Vos he had always 
sunned himself like a butterfly in these smiles, 
caring nothing for the meaning that might be at- 
tached to the flattery which he gave so readily in 
exchange. He had flirted most faithlessly. But when 
the captain of the company to which he belonged 
fell ill, he came away on furlough with him to this 
old Flemish city. The captain, when he got better, 
took Scherer one day with him to the Golden Bear 
and introduced him to his cousin, the younger 
Madame de Vos. She liked the young fellow and 
asked him to repeat his visit, and then Louis fell 
in love with her daughter, Clemence. 

He soon found that attraction for him was quite 
irresistible ; there was something more than a mere 
pretty face in the daughter of the landlord of the 
Golden Bear ; it may have been, too, that the secret 
of Clemence’s power lay in her indifference to the 
flattery which he always fqund so successful 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


39 


with other young women. She was not easily won ; 
but at last Louis Scherer came to Madame de Vos 
and begged her to induce her husband to receive 
him as Clemence’s suitor. Scherer had a frank, 
pleasant manner which won its way through all 
reserve and prejudice; but Auguste idolized his 
daughter, and wanted to be sure that the man she 
had chosen was entirely worthy of her. He con- 
sidered that Scherer was too young and too frivolous 
to marry at present. He said, however, that if he 
was in the same mind at the end of two years, he 
would listen to his proposal. But his wife pleaded 
hard for her young countryman, and de Vos gave 
way at last against his own judgment ; when the 
young fellow’s company was ordered to Algeria, 
he consented to the betrothal. 

So far Scherer’s faith had stood the test ; the 
two years were over, and he had come to claim his 
bride. But to-day he felt sorely troubled. 

Rosalie’s face had haunted him all night, and 
when she came down to breakfast he saw that she 
was even lovelier than he had pictured her, and as 
fresh as a morning sunbeam. He became more 
and more disturbed, and when he heard Madame 
de Vos call on Rosalie to help in amusing him, it 
seemed to him that thQ pnly refuge ivom sq exquL 


40 


THE OLD COURTYABD, 


sitely dangerous a trial of liis good faith, lay in 
flight. He knew he should be all right again when 
Clemence came back. Clemence’s sweetness and 
truth would make him feel calm and peaceful. 

Just then he looked up ; Rosalie’s fair head was 
still bent over her flowers, but he could see her 
profile and the mutinous curves of her pretty lips. 
All at once Scherer’s perplexity left liim. Why 
should he not stay at the Golden Bear till Clemence 
came ? It was surely the most natural course to 
take. 

‘‘Alphonse ! Elodie ! ” cried Madame le Vos, “run, 
run as fast as you can — the goat, the thief — ah,” 
and she Avaddled out of the parlor into the passage, 
and thence into the courtyard, and charged a big 
white goat, which stood diligently nibbling the vine 
leaves, with the ball of worsted on the end of her 
knitting-pin. 

Presently Rosalie turned round. She gave a 
little start at the sight of Louis Scherer. “ I 
thought you had gone, too,” she said. She was 
smiling, and Scherer felt piqued. 

“ Do you want to get rid of me ? ” he said, in 
an embarrassed tone. 

“I? You must think me very rude, I fear. 
One always wishes a guest to stay, does not one ? ” 


THE OLD COUETYABB. 


41 


“ You are truly polite,” he bowed ceremon- 
iously. It is then only from courtesy that you 
have been kind to me.” 

Rosalie fixed her bright eyes on him, and then 
she laughed. 

“ What is the matter?” she said; “you were 
much nicer yesterday, — take care or I shall tell 
Clemence that you can look quite cross. I vow, 
I felt frightened just now.” 

“ Tell me,” he bent over her as he spoke, “ tell 
me truly, do you wish me to stay or to go away.” 

“How can you ask?” she said gaily.. “Iliad 
no one but grandmamma to speak to before you 
came ; I love to be amused.” 

“ Well, then,” he said, looking at her and twirl- 
ing the ends of his fair mustache, “ it is a bargain. 
I will stay and amuse you, if you will sit with me 
in the arbor every morning and every evening 
when no one is there.” 

Rosalie nodded and kissed her fingers to him, 
and then ran away to help her grandmother with 
the goat. 


42 


THE OLD COURTYABB. 


CHAPTER IV. 

CLEMENCE COMES BACK. 

Four days passed away. On the evening of the 
fifth day Clemence stood once more under the 
gray archway of the Golden Bear. Her face had 
a chastened look on it. In the quiet convent 
room at Bruges she had seen so much of the real 
beauty of life — patience, sweetness, self-denying 
endurance, and above all, so cheerful and loving a 
conformity to ills and trials, that she asked herself 
now, as she stood ready to enter once more into 
the distractions of the outer world, which was true 
happiness, enjoyment to the full of the good things 
of this life, or the ineffable peace and sweetness 
that she had seen in the pale eyes of the suffering 
Sister Marie. 

The sunlight had faded, but its heat lingered 
yet. All was still within the archway. Elodie 
was not in her kitchen : on the other side the par- 
lor doQV stood open, There was none within. 


mi: OLD COtBTYAliD. 


43 


Clemence felt glad to be alone. She went on into 
the courtyard. 

There was still light there, but the birds had left 
off singing; the little fountain plashed quietly 
into the stone basin and the gnats hummed every-, 
where ; there was a sort of luxury in the repose of 
the place. All at once this hush was broken. A 
low murmuring of voices came from the arbor 
at the farthest end of the courtyard. Clemence 
looked around, the clustering vine leaves hid the 
faces of the speakers, but she saw Rosalie’s blue 
gown. 

Clemence guessed that her father was with 
Rosalie, and a childish thought came to her, “ I 
will surprise them,” she said. 

She crept noiselessly to the arbor and peeped 
through the vine leaves. Rosalie’s head was 
turned away as she stood opposite her companion, 
but his face, full of glowing happiness, was towards 
Clemence — it was not her father; it was Louis 
Scherer. 

A little cry escaped Clemence. The others 
started in the sudden surprise ; it seemed only a 
second, and then Louis Scherer was standing 
beside Clemence and was kissing her. Later on, 


44 


TBE OLD COXJBTYAUD. 


when Auguste de Vos came in to supper, Rosalie 
was missing. 

The poor child has a headache,” the grand- 
mother said. “ By-the-bye, Clemence has come 
home.” 

The good father went joyfully into the court- 
yard to find the lovers. The moonlight had sil- 
vered the fountain, but it left off playing. 

Monsieur de Vos held his daughter in a long, 
fond embrace. He knew that in the future he 
could not expect to be that which he had lately 
been to Clemence. The remembrance of her 
watchful tenderness towards him ever since his 
deep sorrow thrilled in his voice and manner to- 
night, though he tried to speak gaily. 

“ Well, young folks, is the day fixed?” Clem- 
ence slipped her hand under her father’s arm. 

“Wa have not spoken of it yet,” Louis an- 
swered. 

“ There is no hurry, my friend, so far as I am 
concerned. You need not think we want to lose 
our Clemence.” 

He pressed her hand with his arm. 

‘‘If Clemence will consent” — Louis began to 
speak very fast, he seemed to be hurrying out his 
words. “I think it is well to keep to the old plan we 


THE OLD COUETYARD. 


45 


made, you and I, before I went away. Let us fix 
our marriage for this day fortnight.” 

That is right, Louis, quite right,” de Vos said 
heartily. ‘‘ First pledges should never be broken ; 
it is weak and frivolous to alter anything without 
reason.” 

The brave father had striven to put willingness 
into his voice, but the girl’s little hand lying 
so near his heart felt it heave as if a strong sup- 
pressed sob was kept prisoned there and wanted to 
get out. 

Rosalie came down late to breakfast next morn- 
ing, pale and heavy-eyed. 

“ Eh ? ” her father said. What ails you, child. 
You go out too much in the sunshine,” and then 
he went on reading his newspaper. 

The lovers were talking together at the window 
when Elodie came in. She gave a look fall of 
angry meaning at Madame de Vos. 

The fulness of her joy made Clemence selfish 
this morning. She could think only of Louis, and 
she followed him out into the courtyard without 
even looking at Rosalie. 

One understands how precious an offering was 
‘‘ the first fruits.” 

What second joy is there which equals the first ? 


46 


THE OLD COURT YAJRD. 


The first view of mountain scenery, of the sea, the 
yearly joy of the first day of spring, and the most 
intense of all, the day first of reunion after sep- 
aration. All these have ecstasy in them as fleet- 
ing as breath on a mirror, as the glory of the rain- 
bow. 

To-day Clemence seemed to walk on air. As 
she stepped out into the flood of sunshine, the birds 
v/ere singing one against another ; every sparklet 
of the fountain seemed to bid her welcome, and 
all the flowers glowed with color. 

Shall we go towards the old abbey ? ” Louis 
said. 

‘‘ I should like it — I will get my hat ; ” she 
smiled at him and ran away upstairs. 

She had hardly patience to put on her hat in 
her joy and excitement, and every moment robbed 
from the delight of his presence seemed to her 
trebled in length. 

She was hurrying downstairs when the door of 
her grandmother’s room opened. 

‘‘Come here, Clemence,” Madame de Vos said, 
“I have only wool enough for to-day; you will 
get me some more, child; you can easily pass 
Schmelger’s shop in the Marche aux Grains. Do 
not forget my wool. And, stay, I will seek all the 


THE OLD COUBTYABl). 47 

patterns ; I must get my bags. Stay, stay while I 
look for them. Where are they ? 

Clemence answered hurriedly, ‘‘ Louis is wait- 
ing for me ; we are going out, grandmother, and 
if you have enough for to-day I will manage to get 
you some for to-morrow this evening. Good-bye, 
now ! ” 

She ran away and an unpleasant smile came into 
the grandmother’s face. 

‘‘ Louis is waiting, is he ? ” she said. “ He is 
not in a hurry. I’ll warrant. He would be content 
to wait all day so long as he had my Rosalie to 
talk to. How can this end ? It can only produce 
misery ; well, well.” She began to knit rapidly. 
“ I must question Rosalie — I must see how far 
things have gone with the sweet angel, and then 
if it is as I believe I must make these foolish 
children happy in the way I consider best suited 
to them. Yes, I am the most fitting judge of what 
is best.” She nodded with much complacence and 
went on rapidly with her knitting. 

When Clemence came in from her walk she 
looked changed. A cloud had come over the sun- 
shine of her happiness ; it shadowed her face, and 
yet she could not say whence this shadow had 


come. 


48 


TBE OLD COURTYARD. 


“ Am I exacting ? she said, as she stood taking 
off her hat, ‘‘ do I expect too much joy from mere 
human life ? What does this troubled longing 
mean ? ” She paused while her thoughts searched 
deeper, then with a sigh — Perhaps I have exag- 
gerated. In these long months of absence I have 
dreamed over his words and his looks till I have 
made them out to be more tender, more — I cannot 
even say what I want in them. I don’t know what 
it is I miss.” 

She buried her face between her hands. 

It is ungrateful to murmur ; he is very kind 
and thoughtful for me. Oh, what is this that has 
come over me ? Am I growing wicked ? ” 

There was a look of terror in the sweet earnest 
eyes as she suddenly raised her head and pushed 
her hair from her forehead. 

“ J Qst now, when he insisted I was tired, I fan- 
cied he said it to shorten our walk because he was 
tired of me, or is it this,” a calmer look came into 
her troubled face, ‘‘ is it that all earthly joy is un- 
satisfactory and that this feeling is sent me thus 
early to wean me from desiring it?” She stood 
thinking. No,” she said, “ it is not that. Even 
Sister Marie said I ought to think much of Louis 
and of his love, and I must. It seems to me that 


THE OLD COUJRTYABD. 


49 


he is my all, the very sun of my life ; how ungrate- 
ful I am ! What have I been doing — blaming him 
for want of love ? I suppose that is what I really 
mean.” 

She went downstairs, but she was still heavy- 
hearted ; her trouble seemed to have increased 
instead of being soothed by self-communing. 

At dinner-time every one was grave and pre- 
occupied except Rosalie — she had regained her 
spirits, and she kept up an incessant flow of talk. 

Clemen ce tried hard to feel at ease, but her 
lover’s downcast face checked her ; she felt embar- 
rassed when she spoke to him. 

When they all went into the parlor, she told 
herself she fancied things. 

“ My father was as silent as any of us,” she said, 
“ both he and Louis are doubtless thinking about 
our future life. How grateful I ought to be to 
have a place in the thoughts of two such good 
men. I must conquer this disquiet, or Louis will 
notice it.” 

But when night came and the sisters went to 
their respective rooms, they both cried themselves 
to sleep. 

Rosalie was full of wild grief at the injustice 

that was being committed. Louis loved her best, 
4 


50 


THE OLD COUBTYAEB, 


she knew he did, and yet he would break her 
heart by marrying her sister. On that evening 
when Clemence had found them together in the 
arbor although Scherer had not actually professed 
to love Rosalie, he had drawn the ardent, indis- 
creet girl on to a sudden half-confession she loved 
him — a love which the poor vehement child told 
herself to-night, amid her sobs, Louis Scherer had 
been trying to make her feel ever since his arrival 
at the Golden Bear. 

It is possible that some girls would not have 
attained this knowledge, but Rosalie’s over-mas- 
tering vanity saved her from the reproach of hav- 
ing sought Louis. 

I shall die of sorrow,” she said, as she lay sob- 
bing in the moonlight, ‘‘and then perhaps he, and 
Clemence too, will be sorry. I dare say they will 
cry together over my grave when it is too late.” 

Clemence too had cried at first, but now she lay 
calm and sad, with eyes widely opened, trying to 
regain her lost peace. 

What was this that had come to her — did she 
doubt Louis ? And then she reminded herself 
that the character of all others she had most dis- 
liked was that of a jealous woman. 

And yet she was not jealous. She did not dream 


THE OLD COUETYAED. 


51 


that her lover’s faith had gone astray to another. 
She only felt that her own love was not fully 
returned. She longed for something that she 
missed. 

She lay awake schooling herself with severe 
reproaches. 

It is not his fault,” she said. He has not 
changed ; it is I who love him too much. He has 
gone about in the world since we parted, and has 
constantly met with fresh distractions to his 
thoughts, while I have stayed here brooding over 
my love till I have made an idol of it.” 

She could not free herself from this restless tor- 
ture. ‘‘ I cannot help it,” she said. I must go on 
forever loving him like this.” 

Morning, however, brought hope with it. She 
thought that she had judged too hastily. 

It may be the very strength of his love that 
has changed him. Ah, yes, it is so, doubtless, and 
when we are married these fits of moody silence 
will disappear, and his frank, loving nature will 
assert itself. I will not torment myself with 
doubts,” she said almost gaily. 

She found Louis alone in her little parlor. His 
greeting was warmer than it had been since her 
first arrival* 


52 


THE OLD COURTYABD, 


“ I am going to Alost, my Clemence, to see my 
parents. I told you that they have a house there. 
I shall soon come back, and I shall bring my father 
and my mother with me.” 

It was hard to her to think of parting, and yet 
it seemed a relief that he was going away — this 
short separation might help them both ; but tears 
came into Clemence’s eyes as she looked at her 
lover. 

“ It is only for a few days,” he said, but he 
looked away from her towards the door as if he 
were in haste to depart. 

A sudden impulse mastered Clemence. She did 
not stop to think whether it was a wise one — it 
seemed to force her to speak. 

“ Louis,” she pressed her hands together tight- 
ly, ‘‘ do not be angry with me ; it is only love for 
you that makes me speak. Are you sure that you 
wish to be my husband ? ” 

He stood looking at her ; a faint flush came 
into his bronzed face. 

“You are joking,” he tried to laugh, but it 
sounded forced. “ Is it likely that I should have 
come to claim you, Clemence, if I had not wished 
to be your husband ? ” 


THE OLD COUnrYAEB. 


53 


The door opened and in came Madame de Vos 
and Rosalie. 

Clemence did not get another word alone with 
her lover. 


64 


THE OLD COUETYABD. 


CHAPTER V. 

A STRUGGLE, 

When Louis had started for Alost, Clemence 
seemed to rouse out of a very painful dream. 

She smiled at her own morbid fancies. If Ma- 
dame de Vos had not come in when she did, she 
had been ready to pour out to Louis a confession 
of all her doubts and misgivings. 

Now all her energy* seemed to return. The im- 
portant articles of her trousseau had long been 
ready, — there were just a few trifles which re- 
quired her attention, and she resolved to choose 
them during Louis’ absence. She wanted Rosalie’s 
help, however; she thought her young sister’s taste 
was better than her own in such matters. 

She went to her grandmother’s room to look for 
Rosalie. 

‘‘ Do you know where my sister is, grand- 
mother ? ” she said. 

“ Your sister must not be disturbed,” said Ma- 


’ THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


55 


dame de Vos in an angry voice, but Clemence 
went on — 

‘•I must find her, grandmother; I know she 
will like to go with me to Madame Gr^goir’s. She 
has to choose her own dress you know, and she 
can decide one or two things for me. No one 
has such charming taste as Rosalie has.” 

“ Rosalie shall not be disturbed, I tell you ; ” — 
there was a very stormy sound in the grandmother’s 
voice — I will not have the poor darling teased. 
I will not, I say, Clemence,” — she turned a very 
angry face to the startled girl — ‘‘ I tell you that 
you are a monster of selfishness. Is it not enough 
that the happiness of these two loving hearts is to 
be forever sacrificed to you, but you wish for your 
vanity’s sake to rob the poor suffering innocent of 
the time she spends in weeping over her unhappy 
love?” 

Clemence stood, alarmed and trembling; she 
felt sick with fear. Her grandmother’s indigna- 
tion brought a sense of guilt to her timid heart, 
and yet she did not know the crime of which she 
was accused. The haunting shadow of these last 
days came closer, seemed to crush her with its 
gloom ; but she could not get out words to ques- 
tion her grandmother. She stood looking at the 


56 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


old woman with the earnest imploring glance which 
had always power to irritate Madame de Vos. 

The grandmother shook her shoulders and looked 
ill-used. 

“Bah! bah! Clemence, you know what I mean. 
It is all very fine to look at me in that innocent 
way — as if you knew nothing ; but you cannot have 
been so blind as all that.” 

“Blind! but what — what is it, grandmother?” 
the voice was faint and full of fear. Clemence felt 
as if she had been stabbed. 

“Bah! bah! bah!” The old woman was lash- 
ing herself into fresh anger ; those plaintive words 
had nearly turned her from her purpose. “ If you 
are not wilfully blind, Clemence, you are indeed 
too selfish to see what everyone sees. What else, 
I ask you, could possibly have happened ? Those 
two, Louis and Rosalie, were made for one another. 
You will buy Rosalie a gown for your wedding with 
Louis ! Buy her a shroud more likely — the sweet 
child will die of despair.” 

Clemence started. She was fully awake now. 
She went up to her grandmother and took hold of 
her arm. 

“You must speak more plainly, grandmother.” 
Her hard, strained voice frightened Madame de Vos. 


THE OLD COUETYARD. 


57 


‘‘Do you mean to say that Rosalie loves Louis ?” 
An angry flush came on her cheeks. 

“ Yes, I tell you ; but it is not her fault, she does 
not love him more than he loves her. Why should 
I not mean to tell you, Clemence ? It is the kind- 
est office I can do you.” There was pity in her 
voice as she laid her other hand on the girl’s clasped 
fingers. “ I warn you while there is yet time not 
to force yourself on an unwilling husband. I speak 
for you as well as for them.” 

Clemence stood for a moment crimsoned ; she felt 
almost suffocated with shame. Had Louis, then, 
never loved her ? The warm blood left her face as 
suddenly as it had rushed there. She was very pale 
as she looked calmly at her grandmother. 

“ How do you know this ? ” She spoke so firmly 
that the old woman was cowed. 

“I know it from the child herself. Besides, it 
was enough without this to see the change in Louis 
after you came back, — any one but you would have 
seen it.” 

“ Ah ! ” — it was like the cry of some wounded 
creature, the grandmother’s voice trembled as she 
went on speaking : 

“ Yes, it is so, Clemence, he has not been like the 
same man, poor youth. Surely it is impossible that 


58 


THE OLD COUETYARD. 


you thought he was happy? Well you have only 
to convince yourself ; ask Elodie, ask any one of 
the servants ; they will all tell you how happy Louis 
was with Rosalie till you came back. He could 
not bear to lose sight of her for a moment.” 

She paused for an answer, but the girl raised her 
head defiantly as if to repel any sympathy that 
might be offered, and then went away. 

Instinct had taught Clemence long ago that she 
had a proud, high spirit ; but this had rarely been 
awakened under the loving rule of her father and 
her mother. 

Her grandmother’s words sent her to her own 
room in a tempest of indignation that mastered her 
sorrow. 

She locked the door, and then flung herself on 
her knees beside her bed. 

‘‘It is a conspiracy,” she said, “a plot grand- 
mother has made up to rob me of Louis.” Then 
she hid her face, and a storm of passionate anger 
swept over her. 

This did not last long. She thought of Rosalie’s 
loveliness and of her own inferiority, and the con- 
trast seemed to press like a chill hand upon her 
heart. 

She did not suffer long from jealousy. There 


THE OLD GOURTYABB. 


59 


must be hope to feed that agony, and soon Clemence 
became convinced that Louis did not love her, 
that he had never really loved her. Her vehement 
anger returned. His treatment of her had been 
a mockery, an insult. Her own passion terrified 
her; a tumult of vehement and new feelings 
seemed to be let loose in her ; she could find in 
herself no power against them. Mechanically, and 
by a sort of instinct, she left the house and hurried 
to the old Church of St. Michael. She had been 
taken there once as a child to see the famous pict- 
ure of the Crucifixion, and a consciousness that 
she should not be recognized in the far-off, quiet 
little church, helped to guide her there to-day. 

She came into the church at mid-day, and went 
straight to the side-chapel in which the picture 
hung, and knelt down there. The old sacristan 
had noted the stranger, as he walked up and down 
the aisle. He wanted to go home, but he had be- 
come interested in watching the kneeling figure, 
and he sat down on a chair from whence he could 
watch what happened in the chapel. At first 
the woman knelt rigid, immovable as one of the 
statues around her, her face hidden by the falling 
black hood of her cloak. After a while the head 
was bent lower over the clasped hands, and the 


60 


THE OLD COUETYABl). 


whole body quivered with what seemed to be a 
tempest of sorrow. 

The sacristan was tender-hearted; he got up 
and moved to the farther end of the church out of 
sight and hearing. Now at three o’clock he passed 
again by the chapel ; the woman knelt there still, 
but her grief was hushed. Her hands were still 
clasped, but her head was thrown back and the 
hood no longer shadowed it. The sacristan saw 
a young face ; it was tear-stained, but not sad ; the 
dark eyes were fixed in loving contemplation on 
the picture above them. 

‘‘The poor soul has found comfort,” he said. 
When he passed again the chapel was empty. 

Clemence had stayed there till the tumult within 
her was quieted. She had struggled and prayed 
and meditated, and at last a calm, holy light shone 
into her troubled soul. She repented her anger ; 
she resolved that, let the pain be what it might, 
she would give up self-love in this matter. 

Even as she passed out of church something 
seemed to warn her not to put delay between her 
purpose and its execution. Instead of going home 
she went towards the railway station. 

It was a relief to find that a train was about to 
start for Alost. Clemence drew her hood closely 


THE OLD COURTYAItD. 


61 


over her head, and took her seat in one of the car- 
riages. So long as the train was in motion she did 
not flinch from her purpose ; but she soon reached 
Alost, and when she found herself on the platform 
she shrank from venturing alone into a strange 
town. 

A feeling of unreality came to the girl, and she 
hesitated. 

Have I not been hasty and romantic ? ” she 
asked herself. “ It is possible that my grand- 
mother’s story was false and exaggerated. Louis 
will be troubled that I have followed him to his 
own home.” 

She rushed back towards the station. If she at 
once retraced her steps, Louis need never know 
that she had come to Alost. 

But while she stood hesitating she remembered 
his changed manner, and a sure conviction came 
to her that she had done rightly in following 
Louis. 

Just then the chimes of Alost began to play and 
the sound cheered her. She looked round her and 
saw a little shop with sponges roped like onions on 
each side of the door. A stolid-looking man stood 
behind the counter staring at Clemence. 

Good-day,” she said, bending her head. “ Can 


62 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


you tell me whereabouts Monsieur Scherer lives? ” 

‘‘ Monsieur Scherer,’’ the stolid-faced man put 
his tongue into his cheek, and then he was pushed 
aside ; a bright-eyed, apple-cheeked graybeard came 
forward to Clemence. 

‘‘ Pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said, ‘‘ but my son 
is puzzled. There is more than one Scherer in the 
town of Alost. You ask, perhaps, for the French- 
man who has succeeded to the property of his 
cousin ; he is the Scherer whose son returned from 
the French army this morning. Is it he that 
Mademoiselle asks for ? l^iens^ Mademoiselle, there 
he is — there is Monsieur Scherer, the lieutenant 
who has come back. See, there he walks along on 
the opposite side of the way.” 

Clemence looked and her heart seemed to be in 
her throat. Yes, it was Louis. For an instant she 
stood still, then she went out of the shop and Louis 
saw her. 

He crossed over and stood beside her. 


THE OLD COUBTTABD. 


63 


CHAPTER VL 

‘‘ I CANNOT.” 

“You here, Clemence? What is the matter? 
What has happened ? ” asked Scherer. Face to 
face with him, all her love returned ; her courage 
fled, and for an instant or so words would not come 
to her. 

“ Louis,” she said at last, but without looking 
up, “ I want to speak to you alone, but I do not 
want to go to your father’s house.” He looked at 
her with wonder ; he was bewildered by her strange 
behavior, and he felt an uneasy consciousness that 
she knew the truth. But her voice was so calm 
that it impressed him. He felt that he must do 
what she asked. 

“ Very well, come this way ; ” he spoke dully, 
and he went on into a small, deserted street. He 
was like a man in a dream ; he did not see the 
curious looks of the father and son as they peered 
across the way between the ropes of sponges. 


64 


THE OLD COVRTTABD. 


Presently he roused as a thought occurred to him. 

“We have a fruit garden in the next street,” he 
said, “ and I have the key. I was going there for 
my mother. Will you come ? ” 

She bowed her head. Soon they came to a high 
wall with a small green door at one end. Louis 
Scherer unlocked this, and Clemence passed into 
a large walled garden shaded by tall pear trees. 
Below these were rows of scarlet-runner vines. 

The opening of the gate startled a troop of bril- 
liant butterflies which had been enjoying themselves 
among the white and scarlet blossoms. The beau- 
tiful insects flew here and there and circled round 
the heads of the lovers as they stood facing one 
another just within the gate. 

“ Louis,” Clemence said, quietly, “ why did you 
not answer me truly this morning ? Why did you 
not say — ‘ I love Rosalie’ ? ” 

His eyes fell and he looked confused. Till then 
Clemence did not know that she had still cherished 
hope. It died before Louis spoke. 

“ What do you mean ? You are unreasonable,” 
he said sullenly. “ I have given you no cause for 
jealousy ; you are making us both unhappy for 
nothing, Clemence.” He turned away, but she put 
her hand gently on his arm. 


mE OLjD COtlBTYARD. 


65 


‘‘ Do not be angry with me, Louis. Listen, and 
you will be angry no longer. I began what I have 
to say wrongly. I met you so suddenly that I was 
agitated and my words escaped without my will. 
No, I have not come here to vex you. Oh, no, my 
Louis, — it is the last time I shall call you so — I 
came here only to set you free. I want you to be 
happy in your own way. Please do not stop me — 
no one shall ever blame you. I shall tell my father 
that our engagement is broken, that — that — in fact 
— I do not wish to be your wife.” 

A great struggle was going on in the man’s heart. 
His recollection had come back. At Clemence’s 
last words, he took both her hands in his ; he looked 
agitated. 

Do you not wish it, Clemence ? ” he said, in 
pained voice. He held her hands fast while he 
waited for her answer. 

A deep blush spread over Clemence’s face and 
her eyes drooped. It was so hard to speak her own 
doom. 

No, I do not wish it,” she said at last, and her 
sweet clear eyes looked full at him again. ‘‘ You do 
not love me as I must be loved. Two years ago 
you thought you loved me ; but you deceived 
yourself.” 


5 


66 


THE OLD COXJRTTABH. 


It is you who deceive yourself ; I loved you 
then, and I love you still.” 

She smiled sadly, Well, we will say you loved 
me then, but now you have seen one who — who — 
suits you better, — and your love has changed. 
Stay ; I do not blame you — only — if you had told 
me at once, at first, when — ” she stopped; she 
remembered that she had resolved not to reproach 
Louis. She had borne up bravely, now the break 
in her voice conquered him. 

He knelt down before her, and taking both her 
hands he covered them with kisses. 

“ Clemence,” — ^his voice sounded hoarse and 
choked — I have been blind — mad — wicked even ; 
I see it now. Pardon me if I yielded to a fancy, — 
It is not more. Will you not forgive and give me 
back your precious love ? ” 

And while Louis said this he thought he was 
speaking truly. Clemence drew her hands away. 
This was the sharpest agony of all ; and yet he 
must never know it ; she would not falter now. 

“ Louis,” — her voice shook, but as she went on 
it steadied. “ It is only your kind heart that speaks 
now. Listen : I should be wretched with a husband 
who could not give me all his heart, and then think 
what life would be to either of us. Rosalie loves 


THE OLD COUBTYABI). 


67 


you, and you must marry her. In a few days at 
most you will liave found out that you love her 
truly, and that it is no longer in your power to 
make me happy.’* She ended abruptly. Now I 
must go,” she said. 

It seemed as if these two had changed characters. 
His loving, submissive Clemence was all at once a 
being to be reverenced as well as loved. Louis 
knelt still, he felt so infinitely abased before her ; 
it seemed wonderful to him that he could have 
dared just now to kiss her hands. If she would 
listen to him, his weak heart still whispered. 

“ Clemence,” he began, give me one more trial. 
If you love me you will do this,” and he took her 
hand again. 

“I cannot,” she murmured. She gently drew 
her hand away and she turned to the gate. 

Louis rose slowly ; he walked on beside her with 
bent head, and he opened the little gate in the 
wall. 

‘‘When will you return to the Golden Bear?” 
she said gravely. 

“I do not intend to return there.” 

She gave him a look half-sad, half-smiling — a 
look that often came back to him. Then she drew 


68 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


her hood closely over her head, and she went 
quickly back to the station. 

Two hours later Clemence sat with her father in 
the vine-shaded arbor at the Golden Bear. Auguste 
was speaking in a loud and angry voice: it was 
long before he would accept Clemence’s view of 
matters or accede to her wishes. At last her tears 
subdued his indignation and he left her to pace 
slowly and thoughtfully up and down the court- 
yard. 

It was evening when the father and daughter 
met again in the arbor. The plash of the little 
fountain sounded plaintive in the stillness. Even 
the gnats had left off singing overhead. The land- 
lord and his daughter had come out here together 
from the silent supper-table, and as yet neither of 
them had spoken. At last Auguste de Vos cleared 
his throat as if something choked his voice. 

‘^My darling,” — he fondly stroked her dark hair, 
— “ it shall be as you wish, but I tell you that but 
for you the false-hearted fellow should never again 
darken the old archway, for I can see exactly how 
things have come to pass in spite of your tender 
artifice. Elodie, it seems, was not so blind as I was 
while you were at Bruges, and she has spoken to me 
freely to-day. But if I am to consent to this ex- 


THE OLD COUBTYABB. 


69 


change, let the fellow take Rosalie at once. I can- 
not forgive as you do, my child, and then when the 
house is cleared you will return, my best beloved, 
to be your father’s comfort and blessing. I shall 
take you to Bruges to-motrow and leave you with 
Sister Marie. 


70 


THE OLD COUETYAMD. 


PAKT II. 


CHAPTER 1. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

The old courtyard is once more full of brilliant 
light, but to-day it is not glowing August sun- 
shine. The tall fuchsias in green tubs which 
border the court are scarcely in leaf ; there are no 
flower-buds on the myrtles, though they have put 
out little tender leaves of expectation. The 
fountain sparkles, but the fish are not gambolling 
in the basin below, — they are still safely housed in 
the glass globe in Clemence’s parlor. The sun- 
shine disports itself chiefly among the roses and 
the lilacs, which atone just now for the shabby 
show they made last autumn by a perfect luxury 
of blossoms. Snowy masses with exquisite green- 
gray shadows between ; lilac flowers, now rich in 
color, now delicate in perfume. 

It is May, and yet the keen east wind lingers 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


71 


SO that it keeps Elodie the cook mindful of her 
rheumatic shoulder and unwilling to venture out 
of the warm shelter of the kitchen. 

Elodie’s dark clever face is full of vexation as 
she stands before a small table in the kitchen and 
strips off the leaves of crisp young lettuce plants. 

“ It is unbearable,” she grumbles, as she deftly 
drops each crinkled leaf into the shining brass pan 
of water at her feet. ‘‘ Mademoiselle Clemence 
goes beyond reason. I believe if Madame Scherer 
were to ask her for the gown she wears. Made- 
moiselle would take it off and send it to her. She 
almost broke her heart once to give Madame 
Scherer a husband, and that was quite enough to 
do for a sister — too much in my opinion, — but 
Mademoiselle should be advised ; it is foolish to go 
on pouring wine into a full bottle.” 

At this Elodie * shrugged her shoulders and 
shredded off the lettuce leaves faster than before. 
The cook has a clever head and a warm heart, but 
her temper needs a safety valve. It had this for- 
merly when Madame de Vos managed her son’s 
household. Elodie had disliked the stout, pink- 
faced dame, partly on account of the petty slights 
which she had put on her son’s wife, but more espe- 
cially for the unceremonious way in which she had 


72 


THE OLD COUliTYABD. 


installed herself as mistress of the Golden Bear 
after her son’s wife’s death. In those days Elodie 
had always kept on her war paint, arid, to say the 
truth, this constant habit of fighting had been in a 
way congenial to her. 

But when, according to Elodie, the management 
of Madame de Vos had robbed Clemence of her 
betrothed, the cook told her master that the same 
house would no longer hold her and his respected 
mother, and that he must choose between them. 

Auguste de Vos, however, needed no urging. 
He loved his mother, but he felt that she had 
helped to make Clemence unhappy, and therefore, 
on the day that Louis Scherer and Rosalie were 
married, the grandmother went back to live in her 
own house at Louvain. 

‘‘ What a happiness, what a blessed relief,” said 
Elodie on that occasion. ‘‘ Mademoiselle Clemence 
will now take the place that she ought to have had 
when she lost her mother, — and Mademoiselle 
Clemence is an angel.” 

It may be that the principle which urged Elodie 
so constantly to brighten the shining pots and pans 
on her kitchen wall was thorough, and that it also 
led her to fear, too, that her tongue would grow 
dull and rusty unless now, in the absence of the 


THE OLD COUETYABD. 


73 


grandmother, she sometimes sharpened it against 
her master, Auguste de Vos, and even against the 
‘‘angel,” Mademoiselle Clemence. 

There was a slight sound and Elodie looked up. 

A black-cloaked figure was standing at the par- 
lor door on the opposite side of the long arched 
passage. 

Elodie came forward to the kitchen door. 

“Mademoiselle Clemence,” she said, shrilly. 

“Yes, yes, Elodie, I’m coming,” Clemence 
turned round, for her father was speaking to her. 

Auguste de Vos is still stout and florid, but he 
looks younger, and happier too, than he did five 
years ago ; now that he lives alone with Clemence 
he has the same blessed freedom from domestic 
worry that he enjoyed while his wife lived. 

Clemence has a dexterous way of keeping the 
bright side of life turned towards her father. The 
little jars with Elodie rarely reach his ears. Au- 
guste de Vos has never been a demonstrative man, 
but there has been, ever since that evening in the 
vine arbor when Rosalie’s marriage was decided, 
a graver tenderness of manner towards his eldest 
daughter — something hard to paint in words, but 
which often kindles in Clemence a strong emotion 
and brings a sob and a smile together. 


74 


THE OLD COUBTYABD, 


“Well, well,’* he was now saying, “ I yield, if 
you say it is necessary, Clemence ; only, I ask you 
to remember that Rosalie has three maids and 
only two children. It is, I confess, inexplicable to 
me when, considering all that my mother has done 
for Rosalie and her husband, that they cannot 
manage to nurse her now she is ill without asking 
you to go and help them.” 

Clemence smiled ; her dark eyes shone brightly 
through her dark eyelashes. 

“ Poor Rosalie ! You are severe, father ; this is 
almost the first request she has made me since her 

marriage, and it is perhaps the beginning of ” 

She faltered ; then she looked up frankly into her 
father’s face. He is both father and mother to her 
now. 

“ You know Rosalie has never been quite the 
same to me since she went away.” 

Her father’s eyes were wistfully tender. 

“ The fault is none of your making, Clemence.” 

“ Au revoir^ I must go to Elodie ; ” she nodded 
and crossed over to the kitchen. “ Poor Rosalie 
is not yet forgiven,” she thought. 

She stepped down into the kitchen, and Elodie 
put her head on one side like a pugnacious 
sparrow* 


THE OLE COVUTYATtE. 


75 


‘‘ Hem ! These are fine doings, Mademoiselle. 
Is it true, this that I hear, — that you are going to- 
morrow to Bruges to nurse Madame, your grand- 
mother, who never once was good to you? ” 

Hush, Elodie I you must not speak so of my 
grandmother.” 

Clemence’s dark eyes looked reproving, and 
Elodie turned to the table behind her and spoke 
over her shoulder. 

‘‘ I speak as I find. Mademoiselle. Duty is duty 
everywhere ; and to me Mademoiselle’s father. 
Monsieur, is of more value than Madame his 
mother, and Monsieur will be so sad without 
Mamselle to cheer him ; whereas she — well, she 
would perhaps be a little neglected. Madame 
Scherer is, young, and she loves her race, but she 
will be obliged to take care of Madame de Vos if 
Mamselle stays at home.” 

The woman’s obstinacy aroused Clemence. 

“ I am going to Bruges for all that,” she said 
decidedly, but with so bright a smile that Elodie 
was appeased. 

Now, I am going to see a friend of yours, the 
wife of the sacristan of St. Michael. I want to 
take her a little broth, some cold chicken, and a 
few eggs if you can spare them. She has no one 


76 


mB OLD COUBTYARD. 


to cook for her, poor soul, and she is sadly weak.” 

Elodie gave a grunt as she went out, but she 
soon came back with a carefully packed basket, 
and then when she had watched Clemence into the 
place beyond the passage she came back shrugging 
her shoulders. 

‘‘ It is all very well,” she said ; God forbid that 1 
should grudge the food and drink which Mamselle 
gives, away so freely, but I ask myself what will 
happen to the sacristan’s wife and all the other 
sick folk when Mamselle Clemence marries and 
goes away. Eh ! she will marry some day, like all 
the rest, and the man will be lucky who gets her. 
I should think so, indeed. Well, well, it is a 
crooked world. She has used the poor sick people 
to those dainties, and I for one think that it will 
be harder for them to go without altogether than 
it would be if they did not have them now.” 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


77 


CHAPTER 11. 

DRIFTING APART. 

Louis Scherer had left the army when he mar- 
ried, and had obtained an appointment at Bruges; 
and Rosalie soon found housekeeping so irksome 
that she persuaded her husband to let Madame de 
Vos live with them. 

This arrangement was at first successful. Ma- 
dame de Vos doted on this young couple. Slie 
managed the housekeeping and contributed liber- 
ally to its expense, but when two babies came one 
after another, disputes arose about the best way 
of managing these small treasures, and the discord 
between his wife and her grandmother amazed 
Louis Scherer. 

Now Madame de Vos had become seriously ill, 
and he advised his wife to send for her sister 
Clemence. 

“ She will nusre Madame de Vos and take all 
trouble off your hands,” he said to Rosalie. 


78 


TBE OLD COURTYAUB. 


Louis came to the railway station to meet 
Clemence. It was a year since they had met, and 
Clemence thouglit he looked aged and worried. 

She had seen him several times since the mar- 
riage, and all remembrance of the old relations 
had been effaced by the new one. Perhaps the 
man still felt a certain self-complacency in the 
society of the woman who had once so dearly 
loved him, and perhaps the woman was somew^hat 
blind to faults in him which were visible to 
all other eyes, but then Clemence de Vos was 
always indulgent to every one — unless it was 
herself. 

She inquired for Rosalie and for the children, 
then she said : How is our aunt, — does Rosalie 
see her often ? ” 

Ma — Louis twirled his soft moustache ; 

he was very handsome and he knew it — “ Rosalie 
may see your aunt, but she does not tell me about 
the visits. I have no special liking for Sisters. 
But here we are, Clemence, and see, there is 
your little god-daughter peeping out of the 
window.” 

They had come up a bye-street, which ended on 
the quay of a canal bordered on this side by a line 
of closely-planted poplars. 


THE OLD COUIiTYARD. 


79 


The newly-opened leaves quivered in the sun- 
shine, and this was reflected from the tall red- 
gabled houses across the canal, — houses which 
went down straight to the water’s edge and seemed 
to bend forward a little so as to get a view of their 
own full-length reflections in the yellow water. 

Behind the houses rose the graceful tourelles 
of the Hotel de Ville ; high above the rest was the 
belfry. 

It was just three o’clock, and suddenly the car- 
illon sounded out from the lofty tower, swelling 
with sweet throbs through the air above them, as 
if the angels were holding a musical festival in 
those melodious, unearthly strains. 

Louis was too much accustomed to the carillon 
to listen to it as Clemence did ; There is your 
god-daughter,” he repeated. 

Clemence started from her rapt listening ; — it 
had seemed to her that she heard her mother’s 
voice up there among the angels. 

Louis Scherer lived in a red-stepped gable house. 
There was a pointed gable window in the gable, 
with an arched hood of gray stone. The window 
mullions, too, were of stone. Below were two 
more such windows with a carved spandrel be- 
tween; and from one of these lower windows 


80 THE OLD COUBTYABD. 

peeped a smiling cherub face — a miniature like- 
ness, Clemeiice thought, of Rosalie. 

Clemeiice kissed both her hands to the little 
maid, and then went in through the open archway 
below the windows. 

There was the patter of little feet, a chirrup of 
treble voices, and then two baby-faces peeped from 
behind a green half-closed door on the left of the 
paved entrance. 

Clemeiice dearly loved the children. She forgot 
where she was, — forgot even her grandmother’s 
illness, and sat down on the doorstep with the two 
blooming darlings nestling in her arms. 

The younger of the two, little Clemence, talked 
glibly in soft, incoherent baby words, but little 
Louis played at being shy, and hid his face in his 
aunt’s black cloak, sometimes looking up with 
round, shining blue eyes, his pink, fat forefinger 
between his pouting lips. 

Louis Scherer went on into the house to fetch 
his wife. 

‘‘ Clemence, Clemence, where are you ? ” 

Rosalie’s voice sounded so shrill that Clemence 
at once put the children off her lap and jumped up 
from her low seat. 


THE OLD COURTTABB. 81 

The sisters kissed affectionately, and then ex- 
changed looks. 

Rosalie said to herself — ‘‘ How is it ? Clemence 
grows younger-looking each time I see her.'’ 

Clemence thought that Rosalie looked aged and 
worried. She followed her sister upstairs, stifling 
the wish that Rosalie would look more simple. 
Madame Scherer had still her blonde beauty, but 
the Rosalie of the Golden Bear had been lovelier 
in her simplicity than the fashionably-dressed lady 
whose smile now seemed forced. 

In the short minute that followed their greeting 
Clemence had seen little Louis shrink away from 
his mother and cling to his father’s knees. 

‘‘You must come first to see grandmother,” said 
Rosalie, “ she asks constantly for you.” 

She led the way to the end of the upstairs gal- 
lery, and opened the door of Madame de Vos’s 
room. 

The walls were white, — so were the bed hang- 
ings, with white tufted fringe. The cushion in 
the window seat was covered with white dimity, 
the window itself was shrouded in white curtains 
fringed like the bed hangings. All this white 
served to bring out into yet stronger relief the 
deeply tinted pink face of Madame de Vos. She 


82 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


stretched out one hand to greet Clemence ; the 
other lay still on the coverlet powerless for ever- 
more. 

“Well, well, my child,” she said, “you have 
come at last, then, to look at what is left of your 
grand mother. Ah, but say then, Clemence, is it 
to be believed that I, so active, and of so perfect 
constitution, should be lying here helpless like a 
silly old woman, while that imbecile, la mere Borot, 
who is at least ten years older than I am, ails noth- 
ing and walks as well as ever? Mafoi^ I cannot 
understand how such things happen.” 

Clemance kissed the fretful face and seated her- 
self at the bedside. 

“ You can stay a few minutes, Clemence,” Rosa- 
lie nodded, “but no longer — I have so much to 
tell you.” 

Madame de Vos looked angry. “You are so 
selfish, Rosalie,” she said peevishly. “You have 
Louis and the children ; leave Clemence to me ; 
I have no one — no one.” 

She closed her eyes with a weary sigh. Rosalie 
made an expressive grimace and crept out of the 
room. Clemence sighed too. 

She and her father lived in such unbroken har- 
mony, that this discord jarred her. She had only 


THE OLD COURTYARD, 


83 


come to Bruges twice since Rosalie’s marriage, 
and when her sister had paid short visits at the 
Golden Bear she had seemed gay and bright. But 
she had no time to ponder over the change in Rosa- 
lie — her grandmother soon claimed her attention. 

Madame de Vos related the history of her own 
sufferings with fullest details, and then she went 
on to complain of the neglect, vanity, and also of 
the bad temper, of Rosalie. 

“ And, Clemence, you will have to be careful, 
for she is very jealous, and she will not let you 
stay long with me lest you should love me best. 
It is the same with the dear children. Poor little 
darlings ! they love grandmother and therefore 
they may not run to this end of the gallery, to my 
door ; ah, it is not to be believed. I, too, who 
have done everything for Rosalie ; I gave her a 
husband — everything ; ah me ! ” 

Clemence interrupted as soon as she could get a 
word in, 

“ Does my aunt come to see you, grandmother? ” 
“ No, no one remembers me now ; I am old and 
suffering and forgotten. When I had my own 
home at Louvain, as you know, I had plenty of 
friends, but then I did not fling my money away 
on ungrateful children. Why should Sister Marie 


84 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


come to see me, I ask you? I have nothing to 
give her ; Rosalie told me that Louis disliked see- 
ing a religieuse in his house, so I told my poor 
Marie to stay away ; and Clemence, between our- 
selves, you must agree that the sister is by no 
means an amusing companion, — she bores me with 
her talk.” 

Then she went back to the subject of her griev- 
ances ; — such an unusual pleasure to the invalid to 
get so sweet and cheerful a listener that she would 
scarcely let Clemence go when the girl was sum- 
moned to supper. 

Sounds of angry voices came from the dining- 
room. Clemence opened the door and met Louis 
coming out. His face was flushed. 

‘‘Good-night, Clemence,” he said, “you and 
Rosalie will have to amuse yourselves. I shall see 
you to-morrow.” 

He passed out, and Clemence looked at her sis- 
ter. Rosalie’s fair face was heated and angry. 
She sat in sullen silence while she gave Clemence 
her supper. 

“ I find our grandmother better than I expect- 
ed, ” the elder sister said, “ the attack does not 
seem to have affected her speech.” 

Rosalie shrugged her shoulders, “ You may 


THE OLD COUBTYABB. 


85 


say that,” — she tossed her frizzled head ; ‘‘ I am 
very sure she has been telling you fine tales about 
me and my doings. Ah, I know,” she went on, 
regardless of Clemence’s attempt to stop her, it 
is always I who am in the wrong ; others may do 
as they choose, but they are sure to be right with 
grandmother.” 

Clemence’s heart ached. It seemed as if there 
were no union in this household. A tender, motherly 
longing to comfort her young sister urged her to 
speak. 

“ How is this, Rosalie, she always used to love 
you best. Remember when people are ill, dearest, 
they become fractious and find fault even with their 
best beloved. I fancy this is grandmother’s case.” 

Rosalie shook her head. 

‘‘ It is useless to discuss it. It did not begin with 
this illness. Grandmother has become unjust and 
very selfish, and I do not wish to talk about her.” 

Clemence tried other subjects, but she soon dis- 
covered that it was not easy to find anything which 
Rosalie cared to talk about. 

She would not speak of her husband or of her 
children. The only subject in which she seemed 
interested was a new toilette — a dress and a bonnet 


86 


THE OLD COUBTYAliB. 


she had been choosing for a fHe to be held next 
week in the Botanic Gardens. 

“ You will like it so much, Clemence,’’ she said. 
“ There will be music and plenty of people. The 
officers will all be there,” she blushed as she spoke. 

“ Thank you,” said Clemence, ‘‘ but I will stay 
with grandmother. Though she can talk, poor 
thing, she is quite helpless. I do not think she 
ought to be left alone till she is a good deal better.” 

“Just as you please,” but Rosalie looked sulky 
again, and it seemed to Clemence best to leave her 
to herself. 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


87 


CHAPTER III. 

The fHe in the Botanic Gardens began at two 
o’cloch. When Rosalie came in from church she 
ate something hastily, and then went upstairs to 
dress, leaving Clemence to give the little ones their 
dinner. 

Madame Scherer came downstairs, beautifully 
dressed and In a flutter of excitement. Clemence 
had not seen her sister look so bright since she came 
to Bruges. 

“Come, Loulou, make haste.” Rosalie spoke 
cheerfully, without the fretful ring to which Clem- 
ence had grown accustomed. “We shall be late if 
you don’t make haste.” 

She went to the window. It had already become 
a matter of course that Clemence sat between the 
two children, giving each its dinner. 

“ Ah ! what lovely weather, and I was afraid it 
would be cold.” 

There was the glee of a child in Rosalie’s voice. 
The door opened and her husband came in. He 


88 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


was evidently aware of his wife’s improved appear- 
ance. He looked at her admiringly. 

' “ Is she not gay in her new bonnet? ” he said to 

Clemence. I am just come in time to escort you 
to the/«^^^.” 

Thank you,” — Clemence started at the change 
in her sister’s voice, and she saw the constrained 
look come back to Rosalie’s face. “ I have no wish 
to trouble you, Louis. I am sure you can easily 
find a more amusing companion. Besides, I have 
to take care of Loulou and little Clemence, and you 
will not care to be worried with them.” 

‘‘As you please,” her husband said, “but I sup- 
pose we can start together.” 

Louis spoke carelessly, but Clemence thought 
that he was wounded. He stood whistling, with 
his hands in his pockets, while the children were 
got ready. 

Clemence sighed when they had all gone away. 
It had been sad enough to see the disunion be 
tween Rosalie and her grandmother, but this was 
worse. Was Louis really an unkind husband, 
and was this the secret of the change in Rosalie ? 

Her grandmother’s bell rang loudly and roused 
her from these sad thoughts. She was soon beside 
the invalid. 


THE OLD COUBTYARD, 


89 


‘‘See how I am neglected,” said Madame de 
Vos, — “left all alone;” and then she repeated 
the tale of her sufferings and of the wonderful pa- 
tience with which she had borne them. Her next 
subject was the wealth of the Van Vroom’s family 
and the privilege it had been to the house of de 
Vos to be in any way connected with such supe- 
rior beings, and then she went on to her own vir- 
tue as a pattern mother and an untiring and 
devoted grandmother. 

At last [she paused for breath. 

“ I am glad the day is so fine for the Clem- 
ence said. 

Madame de Vos gave a grunt and turned her 
face away with a look of disapproval. 

“ Ta, ta, ta ; you are glad, are you, that your 
indiscreet sister has the chance of playing pea- 
cock? I know how she is parading up and down 
in the sunshine.” She turned her eyes to Cle- 
mence and she saw that she had grieved her. 

“ Listen, Clemence ; I have a question to ask. 
If you were married to Louis, would it be neces- 
sary for you to be admired by all the officers in 
the town ? ” 

Clemence gave a start of alarm, but in an in- 
stant she had begun to talk of something else. She 


90 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


thought her grandmother was wrong to suspect 
Rosalie so unjustly and to utter such thoughts. 

When she left the sick-room Clemence found that 
Louis had come home; he had brought Loulou 
with him. 

Clemence found the child crying in her bed- 
room. 

Papa will not let me stay with him,’’ he 
sobbed, ‘‘ and mamma called me naughty in the 
Gardens. Oh ! oh ! Aunt Clemence, I am not 
naughty.” 

Clemence kissed him and wiped his eyes, and 
then she took him up to the playroom. It was 
large and at the top of the house. There was no 
fear that noise made there could reach mother or 
grandmother. Clemence always had a game of 
play with the little ones here, but to-day she stayed 
longer than usual. She romped with Loulou till 
she was tired. 

The pretty, golden-haired little fellow was very 
loving. He was singularly intelligent for his age. 

‘‘I must go back to poor grandmother now, my 
pet, she wants me,” Clemence said, ‘‘ but you may 
come as far as the door with me.” 

The little fellow held her fingers tightly clasped 
as they came downstairs. 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


91 


“ You is a good fairy aunt ; like that one in the 
story you tell us. It is always gay in the* house 
since you came. I am never dull now.” 

They had now reached the grandmother’s door, 
and when his aunt stooped to kiss Loulou he 
hugged her so tightly that her face was hidden in 
his golden curls. 

Just then Rosalie appeared at the farther end of 
the gallery. She looked flushed and angry, and 
she went into her room without saying a word. 

When Clemence went downstairs to supper she 
found Louis alone. 

I am not going out this evening,” he said. 
‘‘We are not to wait supper for Rosalie ; she has 
gone to bed.” 

“Is she ill?” 

“ No ; oh, no.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ What is it ? ” Clemence asked herself. “ What 
causes the constrained atmosphere in this house ? 
It is dangerous to ask questions lest one should 
do mischief. Do Louis and Rosalie quarrel, I 
wonder, and is that why they speak so coldly to 
one another?” 

Marriage was certainly different from what 
Clemence had pictured it, and then as she thought 
of her father and mother, she felt that there must be 


92 


THE OLD COUBTTABI). 


something amiss in the relations between Rosalie 
and her husband. 

These thoughts troubled her and kept her awake. 
She fell asleep towards morning, and when she 
came down and found the family at breakfast, Ro- 
salie was pouring out coffee, and Loulou was seated 
close to his mother. 

Here comes our fairy,” he said, then, when 
he had kissed his aunt : ‘‘ Mamma, 1 have named 
Aunt Clemence our good faiiy. If I am crying 
she makes me happy. I think she is like the sun- 
shine, — the room is bright when she comes in, and 
then it is dark when she goes away. Mamma, why 
don’t you be a good fairy, like Aunt Clemence ? ” 

Rosalie was still pouring out coffee, — her hand 
shook, and the tablecloth was spoiled. 

She turned a flushed face on Loulou and boxed 
his ears. 

‘ ' Go upstairs, naughty chatterbox ! See what 
mischief you have done ? ” 

Louis Scherer looked up from his newspaper. 
He usually ate his breakfast without making a 
remark of any kind ; but Loulou was his special 
darling. 

“ You are unjust,” he said to his wife. It was 
not Loulou who spilled the coffee.” 


THE OLD COURTYAUD. 


93 


Rosalie’s eyes sparkled with anger. 

‘‘ No ; of course it is I who am always in fault — 
I am wrong with everyone.” 

She left the breakfast-table. Louis muttered 
an angry exclamation and then he smiled. 

Will you pour out your coffee, or shall I, — she 
will not come back,” he said. 

Clemence felt miserable. 

She will if you ask her. Go after her.” 

Louis raised his eyebrows. “ Ah, you don’t un- 
derstand ; it would be useless. You are not accus- 
tomed to Rosalie ; she must be jealous of some one ; 
it is a necessity to her. To-day it is of your in- 
fluence with the little ones ; it will be someone else 
to-morrow. It is better to leave her alone, I assure 
you.” 

When Clemence was sitting beside her sleeping 
grandmother, she thought over Louis’ words. 

I do not agree with him,” she said. “ What 
will this ‘ leaving alone ’ come to at last. Surely 
every one of these disagreements must weaken 
love. And how they loved each other once ; ah, 
if I could only see them happy again.” 

She heard a rustling at the door ; she opened it 
gently ; little Louis lay there, sobbing, curled up 
on the door mat. 


94 


THE OLD COURTYABD, 


Clemen ce stroked his hair, but the child shrank 
away. 

“ What is it, darling ? ” she caught him up in 
her arms. 

“It is your fault now, dear aunt;” a look of 
relief spread over the child’s troubled face. 
“ Mamma says I am naughty to love you so much, 
and now it is you who love me, Aunt Clemence;” 
he twined his arms round her neck and whispered 
— “but I do love you best in the world.” 

Aunt Clemence was glad to hide her eyes among 
his golden curls. She was shocked and alarmed 
that Rosalie could thus teach her child evil, and 
yet she did not know what to do. 

If she remonstrated with Rosalie it might cause 
a quarrel between her and her sister. 

She was still hugging the child in her arms when 
Rosalie’s door opened. 

Clemence felt guilty when she saw the fair, 
frowning face, only for an instant, then she set 
Louis down. 

“ Run upstairs,” she said, “ go and play with 
little sister.” 

The boy looked from one face to another, and 
he hesitated. 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


95 


‘‘ Go, Loulou,” Clemence said, and he bounded 
upstairs. 

‘‘Why do you send him away, Clemence? 
When I asked you to come and help our grand- 
mother it was not that you might rule my children 
and my house.” 

Clemence opened her bedroom door. 

“ Come in here, Rosalie,” she said. 

Madame Scherer had spoken in a loud, haughty 
tone, and Clemence looked towards one of the ser- 
vants who was crossing the farther end of the 
gallery. 

Madame Scherer followed her sister into the 
room, but she went on in the same tone, — “ I do 
not care who hears me ; I am not in the wrong 
this time ; no mother can submit quietly to be 
robbed of the love of her children.” 

Clemence shut the door. “ Listen to me,” she 
said, in a firm voice. “ You are not happy, dear, 
and your trouble makes you unjust. Children like 
new faces. If I were always here Loulou would 
not care for me, and it is just the same with grand- 
mother. Why, Rosalie,” she smiled tenderly at 
the fair, sulky face, “ you know you were always 
the pet and the favorite with all, — no one could 


96 


THE OLD COUBTTABD. 


help loving you ; jealousy should never be one of 
your troubles.” 

Rosalie’s eyes flamed with anger. 

You are as unjust as Louis is. I am not 
jealous, I tell you, neither am I vain. Surely, 
when I see every one preferred to me — when 
husband, and children too, desert me — it is time 
that I should feel it without being called jealous. 
I am not insensible, Clemence ; cold, correct 
people do not know how warm hearts suffer.” 
Tears filled the angry eyes, but she wiped them 
quickly. It is useless for one to try to teach 
another,” she said. 

Clemence put her arms round her sister and 
kissed her flushed unwilling cheek. 

I did not mean that you have not sorrows, 
dearest, but it does not help you to brood over 
them. I sometimes think,” (she smiled) “ that 
some troubles are like eggs. If we leave them to 
grow cold they perish out of existence, but if we 
nurse them they gain strength and life. Why not 
go to your children now and play with them? 
They would do you good.” 

Rosalie drew herself stiffly away. 

“ Single women are apt to talk of what they do 
not understand,” she said, bitterly. I suppose I 


THE OLE COUETTABE. 97 

shall next get a lecture on my behavior to Louis ; 
oh, I am thankful all the same,” she curtsied, and 
then moved proudly to the door. “ Clemence,” 
she said, as she opened it, “ w-hen next I want 

advice about my general conduct, I will ask for it. 
7 


TH^ OLD COVRtYADD. 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN WHICH MADAME DE VOS COMES BACK TO THE 
GOLDEN BEAR. 

Monsieur de Vos passed slowly up and down 
the old courtyard, his head drooped forward, his 
hands clasped behind him, and between them he 
held an open letter. He had been walking up and 
down in perplexed silence for at least ten minutes 
— a silence only broken by the vociferations of 
Clemence’s canary bird from his green and white 
cage hanging in one of the arbors. 

The silence, however, was not solitude. Elodie 
stood watching her master from the kitchen door. 
The wind felt keen and easterly, but Elodie had 
forgotten her rheumatism ; she stood with her left 
hand clasping her waist, the fingers of the right 
hand pressed her lips firmly as if she was trying 
to keep in her words. 

She remained dumb, but her face was full of 
defiance ; and she had already burst out, but had 
been sternly told to hold her peace ; but all the 


THE OLD COUETYAUI), 


99 


remainder of the objections were ready on her 
tongue with a sure purpose of being spoken on the 
first opportunity. 

The letter which Auguste de Vos held was from 
Clemence. She told her father that Madame de 
Vos was better, but that she needed change of air 
and scene, and Clemence asked leave to bring her 
grandmother home to the Golden Bear. Mon- 
sieur de Vos had read this part of the letter to 
Elodie, and the cook had taken upon herself to tell 
him that it was neither kind nor just to allow 
Mademoiselle Clemence to be plagued by her 
exacting grandmother. 

“ Hold your tongue,” said her master. 

In his heart, while he walked up and down. 
Monsieur de Vos felt the truth of the old servant’s 
words. He knew that her grandmother had always 
snubbed Clemence, and that there would probably 
be quarrels between him and his mother if she 
came back. But he was too dutiful a son to permit 
Elodie’s tongue such license, and had therefore 
checked her sternly. 

Mind your own business,” he said, as a final 
rebuke. 

At this Elodie muttered: ‘‘It is my business, 
but it ought to be yours.” 


100 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


At last he stopped in his walk and came up to 
his old servant. 

“ They will arrive to-morrow,” he said, ‘‘ You 
will see that their rooms are ready.” 

‘‘Yes, Monsieur,” — the cook’s face looked as 
wooden as one of the painted figures in the court- 
yard — “ but I must speak before they come. I 
love you and Mademoiselle, and I would work my 
fingers to the bone for either of you, but I am too 
old to obey a new mistress you must then engage 
a new cook for the Golden Bear.” 

The master’s face looked as hard as the cook’s 
did. 

“ Elodie,” he said, “ you talk nonsense ; you are 
good and faithful, but at times you are also imbecile. 
Do you not know that you could not live away 
from Mademoiselle Clemence, and do you not also 
know that any other soup than yours would give 
me indigestion? There, it is ended; I will not 
listen to another syllable.” 

He probably distrusted his cook’s power of self- 
control, for he walked quickly up the arched 
entrance-way and stood looking out over the little 
place into which it opened. 

Clemence’s was not a complaining letter, and 
yet its tone troubled her father. Like many another 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


101 


silent man, seemingly self-absorbed and indifferent, 
Auguste de Vos was keenly sensitive to the joys 
and sorrows of those he loved ; his sympathy with 
Clenience was so perfect that he knew already her 
visit to Bruges had been unhappy. 

‘‘ I shall not question her,” he thought ; “ she 
will tell me as much as I ought to know. Clemence 
is good, but she has a gift that is rarer among 
women than goodness is, — she is wise — she knows 
when to speak and when to be silent.” 

Clemence and her grandmother arrived next day. 
Auguste de Vos was a good deal shocked by the 
change in his mother. She had not regained the 
use of her left hand, and she looked greatly aged, 
though she was no longer bedi’idden. When her 
son had taken her to her room and she found herself 
alone with him her tongue wagged freely. 

Mafoi^ Auguste,” she said, ‘4t is good to be 
here — among peaceful and loving people ; these 
last months have been passed in a tempesto f strife 
and jealousy.” 

‘‘ Of jealousy ? I do not understand you, 
mother,” for though he thought it possible she 
might herself create strife in a household, he felt 
puzzled about the jealousy.” 

The good child has not then told you? You 


102 


THE OLD COURTTABD. 


do well to set store by Clemence, my son ; she has 
greatly improved ; she is now very like the angels. 
I assure you, however, that it is Rosalie’s bad tem- 
per and jealousy that have driven her sister from 
Bruges.” 

Monsieur de Vos felt very angry. It was hard 
to hear that his good, patient child, after all her 
suffering, had been ill-treated by anyone. But that 
she should suffer unkindness from Rosalie, for 
whom she had given up the happiness of her young 
life, seemed to the tender father the utmost pitch of 
ingratitude. 

“ That is monstrous,” he said ; “ and has Louis 
behaved badly too, mother ? ” 

‘‘ No, my son, I do not complain of Louis,” said 
Madame de Vos, ‘‘ he is always kind and well- 
behaved. Perhaps he is not so much at home as he 
used to be, but what can you expect, Auguste ? If 
a woman is jealous, and is always finding fault, a 
man will not always be patient ; it is not to be 
expected.” 

“ And I think, on the contrary, mother, that 
where two people love one another so soundly, that 
it becomes necessary to sacrifice another’s happi- 
ness so that these two may marry, I— ” here Auguste 
de Vos became conscious of his frowning brows and 


THE OLD COUBTYABB. 


103 


irate voice and tried to smooth himself into a more 
dutiful aspect, — well, all I can say is that I expect 
such a pair to be more than usually happy and 
loving together. But it is true in this, as it is in 
other things, ill-gotten goods are not worth having 
— they are sure to bring trouble along with them. 

While her son spoke, Madame de Vos had put 
her handkerchief to her eyes. She was not crying, 
but she felt that her son’s words applied to her 
personally, and that it behoved her to resent them. 

“ What is tlie matter? ” Auguste de Vos said. 

“ You seem to forget, Auguste, that I approved 
of Rosalie’s marriage. It is quite impossible with 
my experience, that I could be wrong in my judg- 
ment, and certainly,” she said emphatically, ‘‘ Louis 
was much better suited to Rosalie than he was to 
Clemence.” 

Auguste de Vos bent his head. “ I quite agree 
with you, mother,” he said. And this ended the 
discussion, though it did not end the anger of the 
landlord of the Golden Beor. 


104 


TEE OLD COURTYARD. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE OUTCOME. 

At Bruges, meantime, the sad discords between 
the Scherers had become more frequent. 

Till her illness began, Madame de Vos had taken 
all housekeeping cares from Rosalie ; now that she 
had no one even to consult with, the young mother 
found her task too irksome. Her sharp temper 
made her servants dissatisfied and unwilling, and 
Louis Scherer complained bitterly of the discomfort 
of his home. 

At last he said to his wife : 

“ If you would stay more at home, Rosalie, and 
look to the house and the children, instead of 
parading the Kanter like a peacock and chattering 
to popinjays, one might get a dinner cooked fit to 
eat.” 

Rosalie flew out in vehement retort. 

What next, I wonder,” she said. I was 
brought up to be waited on ; I have never done 
servant’s work, and .1 am certainly not going to 


THE OLD COUnTYARE, 


105 


begin. It is too bad to sajthat about the Kanter.” 
She spoke passionately, ‘‘ I may speak to Captain 
Delake, or I may not ; but I go to the Kanter to 
listen to the band, not to see him. It is quite dif- 
ferent with you ; you go out every evening to talk 
to Eugenie Legros ! ” 

Louis shrugged his shoulders. I am tired of 
this, Rosalie,” he said, wearily, you are always 
angry when I go to see Legros, but it has not 
occurred to me when I go to smoke a pipe with him 
that I might also amuse myself with his daughter. 
As you suggest it, I will perhaps try it. Adieu ; 
I advise you to cultivate good temper.” 

But Louis Scherer did not go as usual to smoke 
a pipe with his old friend. Rosalie’s temper had 
never struck him so unfavorably as it had this 
evening. She had grumbled for months past, but 
had never before spoken out so openly, so rebel- 
liously. 

She had parted in anger from her sister, and 
had told her that her visit had caused discord. 

This was not true in the sense in which the 
poor jealous girl meant it, but it was true that the 
contrast of Clemence’s character had made Louis 
more fully aware of his wife’s ungentleness. Ro- 
salie had grown into a habit of upbraiding her hus- 


106 


THE OLD COUBTYAED, 


band for everything he did, and yet she felt ag- 
grieved by his want of tenderness. On this evening 
Louis Scherer did not even give himself the solace 
of a pipe ; he was deeply, thoroughly unhappy. 

She will become worse and worse,” he said. 
‘‘ Women’s tempers do not improve with age.” 
He sighed heavily. 

‘‘ Who could have guessed that so sweet and 
blooming a girl as Rosalie was would ever have 
developed such peevish discontent and such a tem- 
per. What can I do?” 

He paced up and down beside the canal. Lights 
in the distance twinkled among the trees and glit- 
tered faintly on the water. 

A group of people had stopped to talk on the 
nearest bridge, and some of them were laughing 
merrily. 

Scherer envied them. He thought of his wife’s 
cross face and he shrank from going home. 

^ Presently he stopped in his walk. 

“ Why do I endure this existence ? ” he said, 
moodily. “ It is destroying me. My cousin 
Jaques, at Brussels, has often said he would like to 
exchange posts with me for a few months, if it 
could be managed. I have enough for myself and 
for Rosalie also ; there need be no change in the 


TME OLD COtTRTYAltD. 


lor 


household. It is hard to leave the dear children, 
but it is better for a time at least. Anything is 
better than this daily strife. I will not submit to it. 
I will tell Rosalie my determination, then the next 
time she finds fault with me I shall write to 
Jaques.” 

Louis Scherer was by nature good-tempered ; it 
did not, however, occur to him that in himself lay 
a means of softening and helping the irritable, ex- 
acting woman whom his cold manner fretted. He 
only told himself that Rosalie was changed; she 
was no longer like the girl he had married.” 

‘‘ I have more to vex me than she has, and yet 
I never begin a quarrel ; and she is so vain and 
flighty, and extravagant about her dress. Oh, yes, 
I am quite tired of it.” 

He walked slowly back to his own door, telling 
himself that he was a very ill-used liusband. 

His next remark was not so true. 

“ It is my own fault for taking things so quietly. 
I will end the whole affair.” 

Rosalie was sitting where he had left her. She 
had been crying bitterly, but she did not choose 
that Louis should know this, and when he told her 
that unless they could live more peacefully he 
meant to go away by himself to Brussels, she lis- 


108 


THE OLD COURTYABB. 


tened in silence. Louis waited; he really half 
hoped for a reconciliation, but, as she would not 
speak, he turned away and went to see Legros. 

Kosalie burst out crying again. She felt utterly 
crushed. In spite of her complaints she had be- 
lieved in her husband’s love. It was terrible to 
hear him threaten to desert her. 

There was a tap at the door. A fine, portly- 
looking man, much taller than Louis Scherer, came 
in without waiting for leave. 

It was Captain Delake ; he looked disturbed at 
the sight of Madame Scherer’s tears. 

‘‘ Madame is in sorrow,” he said impressively, 
and he sighed as he seated himself beside her. 

It ru§t that nothing serious has happened to 
Madame,” he said. 

It appeared to Rosalie that she had not fully 
realized her husband’s unkindness. She had given 
herself and her love to Louis, and he had actually 
threatened to desert her ; and here was this grand 
gentleman, a grade higher in the army than Louis 
had ever been, troubled at even the sight of her 
sorrow. How tenderly he had spoken ; he was 
full of sympathy, and only yesterday she had 
thought him old and swaggering when she saw him 
on the Kanter. 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


109 


Her heart ached sorely, and at the captain’s 
sympathy it relieved itself in a fresh flow of sobs 
and tears. 

Captain Delake looked yet more tender and 
sympathetic ; he felt that he should like to “ punch 
the head” of Louis Scherer if he had caused 
Madame’s tears. 

“ Pardon me, Madame,” he said softly, “ may I 
not know what causes your sorrow ? ” 

Rosalie tried to eheck her sobs. “ No, Monsieur, 
I cannot possibly tell you.” A little quivering sob 
came ; but she wiped her eyes and felt ashamed of 
her wet face. 

“Ah, Monsieur, please excuse me,” she said, 
“ I am the most miserable woman in the world.” 

“ Mafoi, Madame, do not say that ; it makes 
me so sad. Will you let me try to make you 
happier ? ” 

The respectful tenderness in his voice soothed 
Rosalie. 

“ Ah,” she thought, “ if Louis would only speak 
to me like that,” then aloud and very sadly, “ No, 
Monsieur, no one can make me happy, I can never 
again be happy. My husband is angry with me, 
and I — I — I — ’• she began to sob again. 

Captain Delake gently took her hand in his. 


110 


THE OLD COVBTYAnD. 


‘‘ The man who can grieve so fair and angel-like 

a being ” and then he stopped. The door was 

opened by Louis Scherer. 

Louis looked very angry, but Captain Delake 
did not let go Rosalie’s hand. He rose with admi- 
rable coolness. 

Good-evening, Madame,” he said, “ I am so 
pleased to hear better news of Madame de Vos. 
Ah ! Scherer, where do you spring from ? If I 
were not pressed for time I would stay and smoke 
a pipe with you, but as it is I say an revoir^ my 
friend.” 

He was gone before Louis had recovered himselL 

Rosalie’s eyes had dried at once. She looked 
angrily at her husband, but her heart was full of 
fear. 

Louis came forward and stood facing his wife. 

“ So,” he said, after a pause, “ this is how you 
spend the lonely evenings I hear so much about.” 

It was only the second time that Captain Delake 
had called at the house in Scherer’s absence, but 
Rosalie felt too much outraged by her husband’s 
suspicions to answer him reasonably. She rose up 
pale and trembling with anger. 

Silence, Louis,” she said, ‘‘ this is too insulting. 
For at least six months you have left me every 


THE OLD COURTYARI). 


Ill 


evening, and do you expect me to live always 
alone without society or sympathy ? Even on the 
day of the fHe you were angry with me because I 
spoke to my friends, and you left me to get home 
as best I could.” 

Louis had recovered his composure. He spoke 
in a calm, stern voice, — a new tone which com- 
pletely frightened Rosalie. 

“ You are not wise to remind me of the/^fe,” he 
said. “ In this sad estrangement which has come 
between us, I have tried to avoid reproaches, I 
believe, because I was so weary of hearing them, 
and therefore I have been silent about your be- 
havior at the Botanic Gardens. I was not, how- 
ever, blind. I saw your vanity and folly, and your 
want of self-respect, and not only with Captain 
Delake. I left the file without you, but not till I 
had asked you twice over to come with me. You 
refused. Well, Rosalie, on that day you took your 
choice between me and the gratification of your 
vanity ; now I also make my choice between you 
and my peace. I cannot believe that I am neces- 
sary to the happiness of so vain and inconstant a 
woman.” 

Rosalie had softened at his first words but the 
last recalled her pride. 


112 


THE OLD COURTYABD. 


“ It is too wicked to accuse me in this way,” she 
broke out passionately, more to herself than to her 
husband. “ He is to spend all his time away from 
me with others, and I am to be mute and meek, and 
I may not even listen to a word from another man. 
It is not to be borne — no, indeed; you spoke truly 
wlien you said you were not necessary to my hap- 
piness. I cannot easily be less happy than I am 
with you ! ” 

‘‘ It is settled, then ; you wish us to sepa- 
rate ” but Louis lingered and he kept his eyes 

fixed on the graceful head, so scornfully turned 
away from him. 

‘‘Yes.” 

Rosalie shrugged her shoulders ; then she went 
suddenly out of the room, ran upstairs to Madame 
de Vos’ bedchamber, and locked herself in. 


THE OLD COURTYAUl). 


113 


CHAPTER VI. 

SISTER MARIE. 

The fat, rosy-cheeked portress tapped at the door 
of the nuns’ parlor in the convent of the New Jeru- 
salem at Bruges. 

‘‘ Will Sister Marie go to our mother ? ” the 
portress said, when she had been bidden to come 
in. A note has come for the sister.” 

‘‘ For Sister Marie ! ” ‘‘ tiens^ Marie, who 

is your correspondent ? ” Quite a little chorus of 
wonder and gentle joking buzzed round the quiet, 
sweet-faced sister who sat in a corner sewing. She 
was very busy repairing some point lace belonging 
to the convent. 

The mother is in her parlor,” said the portress. 
She held the door open and looked reverently at 
the sister as she passed out. Sister Marie, in spite 
of her humble, retiring nature, had somehow in- 
spired those among whom she lived with a convic- 
tion of her saintliness. She found the superior 
reading. Her room was like all the others, white- 


114 


THE OLE COVETYAHE. 


washed, except that it was richer in pictures and 
statuettes. These were loving gifts from the pupils 
educated in the convent. The superior looked up 
from her book when the sister came in. She had 
a calm, peaceful face, not so sweet as the Sister 
Marie, but full of intelligence. She put an open 
note into the sister’s hand. 

‘‘ You must go to Rosalie ; she wants your 
advice.” Though the mother smiled, she looked 
troubled too. “ You know I have always had fears 
about the poor child. This Monsieur Scherer can- 
not be a good husband to go away thus from his 
young wife and his children.” 

‘‘ Very well, I will go, mother,” and then, when 
the sister had put on the black veil she wore out of 
doors, she took her way beside the canal to her 
niece’s house. 

Rosalie had impulsively written to her aunt in an 
agony of remorse at having driven her husband 
away from her. When, on the morning after their 
quarrel, she found that Louis had really started for 
Brussels, all her love for him came back. But she 
had not sent her note off at once, and by the time 
her aunt arrived Rosalie had cooled from this con- 
trite mood. When Sister Marie tenderly kissed 


THE OLD COVUTYAUD. 


115 


her niece, instead of the remorseful penitent she 
had hoped to find, Rosalie smiled at her and seemed 
quite at ease. 

But the sister had lived much among young girls, 
and she was not deceived by her niece’s show of 
indifference. 

‘‘You are in trouble, dear child,” she said. 
“ What help can I give you ? ” 

Her niece blushed under the sweet but direct 
look in her aunt’s beautiful eyes. She stood twist- 
ing her fingers together, angry with herself, with 
Sister Marie, and with everyone. 

“I am sure I don’t know,” she said fretfully. 
“I hardly know why I wrote to you, only it 
seemed as if I must tell someone how I have been 
treated, and I did not want to tell my father. He 
would say it was my fault, of course, and so would 
grandmother. It is sure to be my fault always 
with some people.” 

She tossed her head and laughed. 

“ My poor Rosalie,” her aunt gave a cheerful 
smile. “ I fancied from your note that you were 
sorry about something that had happened.” She 
waited, then she said, “ What has happened, my 
dear child, to make your husband go away ? ” 

“You had better ask him.” Rosalie looked 


116 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


fiant, but at the tender pity she saw in her aunt’s 
eyes a sudden irrepressible sob rose in the girl’s 
throat. Next minute her fair head was on Sister 
Marie’s shoulder, and she was sobbing as if her 
heart would break. 

It is not my fault, indeed it is not,” she sobbed. 
“ Louis is so cold, so selfish ; he does not care 
for me ; he is enough to break a woman’s heart, 
with his cool, indifferent ways ; and then because 
I let others talk to me and admire me, ever so little, 
and only to sting him into being more loving, he 
says I am given up to folly and vanity, and — and 
— he has left me.” 

The words had come in little broken phrases 
between her deep sobs, and Sister Marie had not 
interrupted her niece ; she knew that the girl must 
pour out all her sorrow ; the wound would not 
close while any poison lingered in it. 

But while she listened the sister’s pure soul was 
troubled. She had thought of Rosalie as one of 
the sinless lambs of the convent flock, and it 
seemed woeful that this young wife should even 
wish for the admiration of a man who was not her 
husband. 

“ It is not my fault ; I am not to blame,” Rosalie 


THE OLD COUliTrAlUK 


117 


repeated, but this time the words sounded like a 
question. 

Sister Marie smiled. 

“ Dear child, the hardest thing we have to bear 
in life is our own blame ; we are so lazy, Rosalie, 
that we usually try to make someone else carry it ; 
and yet,” she spoke more gravely, “the nature of 
love is to bear all for the sake of the one beloyed, 
— is it not?” 

Rosalie did not understand, but she looked un- 
easy. 

“You see, dear child,” Sister Marie spoke in a 
cheerful, confiding tone as if slie were full of quiet 
gossip, “ we who call ourselves Christians have all 
got to bear our cross in one shape or another ; is 
it not so? We have been shown the way, and if 
we will we may follow in every footstep of that 
way ; but it is useless to put our burden on others, 
— each must carry his own. 

Rosalie’s head moved restlessly. She put her 
aunt in a chair and seated herself beside her. She 
wanted sympathy and condolence, and it seemed 
to her that Sister Marie was reading her a lecture. 

“ There is no use in telling me this, aunt. Even 
while I was at the convent I never ca]*ed for this 
kind of talk, and I like it less now. I can’t under- 


118 


THE OLD COURTYABD. 


stand it ; you see I am quite different from Cle- 
mence. She is so calm ; she has no burden to bear, 
I suppose, or she could not be so cheerful and 
happy. Ah ! there are people who have not 
feeling enough to be unhappy.” 

She spoke so bitterly that Sister Marie sighed. 

You are mistaken, dear child. Clemence has 
a great deal of feeling,” she said, ‘‘but I think 
she feels more for others in their troubles than she 
does for herself. Perhaps it is because she carries 
her burden so willingly that she is able to be 
bright and happy ; directly we begin to consider 
and to bewail a hardship, it grows heavier, my 
child, and we rebel against bearing it at all.” 

“ But I do bear ; see how much I have borne 
already.” Rosalie was carried out of her sulky 
reserve by the wish to justify herself in her aunt’s 
opinion. “ Louis has left me evening after even- 
ing and I have not complained.” 

“ But have you been loving and tender to him, 
Rosalie ? Has he been much in your thoughts ? 
Have you shown him, dear child, that his comfort 
and his happiness are your chief cares ? ” 

Rosalie’s blue eyes opened widely. It was al- 
most laughable to hear a quiet, staid sister like her 
aunt Marie instructing her in the art of loving her 


THE OLD COURTYAnB, 


119 


husband, just as if there were a principle in it. 

She gave a little toss of her frizzled head. 

‘‘ Of course I love Louis, but I should be want- 
ing in self-respect if I made no difference when he • 
takes no care to make me happy. Besides, it is 
my duty to tell him of his faults.” 

Sister Marie smiled. 

If you and Louis saw one another on opposite 
sides of the canal, you could not clasp hands 
across it, Rosalie. One of you would have to 
cross the bridge and seek the other ; eh, is it not 
so?” 

Rosalie’s face had become red with anger. 

“Single women cannot judge for us married ones, 
aunt ; I mean no disrespect. I told Clemence so. 
Surely you would not have me follow my husband 
to Brussels and ask his pardon for what is his own 
fault?” 

“Yes, I would have you do this, Rosalie.” She 
looked grave, but there was a tender, persuasive 
tone in the words. “ Learn your own heart, my 
child — you know what I mean, — and try to see if 
all the blame rests with Louis, and if it does, 
remember that those who are in the right are 
always more ready to be reconciled than those who 
^re wrong.” 


120 


THE OLD COURTTARD. 


Rosalie shook her head. 

‘‘ I think,” her aunt said gently, “ that you will 
be unhappy, and wrong too, if you do not seek to 
be reconciled to your husband.” 

Rosalie stamped with vexation at the sight of 
her aunt’s serious face. ‘‘It is too bad ! too bad ! 
You are as hard as all the others. Everyone is 
so unjust ; I am always to blame.” 

Sister Marie did not notice this outburst. She 
asked after the children, and then she got up to 
go away. “ I will come again if you wish it, my 
dear child,” she said. “ I fear I have not given 
you any comfort to-day.” 

“ I have been at least able to make you sure of 
one thing,” Rosalie said. “ You know that I love 
Louis. I may not have told him so, but I feel it 
all the same, even when I am most angry with 
him.” 

Sister Marie smiled again. 

“ But, Rosalie, how is your husband to know 
this. I do not think I could believe in the love of 
a person who often spoke angrily to me. ‘A plant 
that puts forth no leaves is counted dead. Love 
must exercise itself in deeds and words, or it can- 
not live — its root will wither. Good-bye, dear 


THE OLD COURTYABB: J21 

child. Pray for yourself and for your husband, 
and all will be well.” 

She kissed Rosalie very lovingly, and th6n she 
went back to the convent of the New Jerusalem. 

‘‘A good thing she has gone,” the girl burst 
out; ‘‘I shall not be in a hurry to send for her 
again.” 

Rosalie dressed herself and went out for a walk. 
She noticed that her neighbors stared at her 
from their windows. Presently she saw two 
women she knew put their heads together and 
whisper, and when they came up to Rosalie they 
looked full of condemnation. 

‘‘Let them chatter,” she said, haughtily, and 
just then she met Captain Delake face to face. 

A burning flush rose in her cheeks. She bowed 
in answer to his greeting, and hurried on so fast 
that he could not get the chance of speaking to 
her. 

Rosalie walked on absorbed in thought. It was 
strange, but though she knew that her aunt was 
only a sister, a woman who, as Louis always said, 
lived a shut-up, secluded life, which deprived her 
of any power of judgment, yet Sister Marie’s 
words stuck to her niece as though they had been 
burs. 


122 the old courtyard. 

Rosalie found herself pondering them even after 
she went to bed that night. What was it her 
aunt had said about love in deeds and words ? 
“ Love ? — what is this love she talked of ? ” 
thought Rosalie, sleepily. “ I love Louis ; is not 
that enough ? What can she mean by ‘ showing 
love’?” 


/ 


/ 


TEE OLD COUETYAED, 


123 


CHAPTER VII. 

WITH THE ANGELS. 

It is a pouring wet morning. Louis Scherer 
sits before his breakfast in a eafS and listens to the 
drip-drip of the rain on the veranda. 

He has as much peace as he can desire in his 
Brussels life, but for all that he is not happy ; 
there is a want at his heart which he never felt in 
his bachelor days. 

Would it not have been better, he thought, to 
have spent at least some of his evenings with 
Rosalie ? 

He has been asking himself this question over 
and over again, and he cannot find a satisfactory 
excuse for himself. 

The great quarrel between us was about those 
visits to Legros,” he thought. ‘‘ I certainly might 
have been more at home,” and then he wondered 
what Rosalie thought of his absence. 

‘‘ She was foolish about that Captain Delake ; ” 
the remembrance of this made him feel very angry. 


124 : 


THE OLD COUBTYARD, 


His cousin had received him coldly. Louis’s 
sudden arrival had disconcerted the orderly Flem- 
ing, and he said he could not listen to a proposal to 
exchange posts. He, however, found a temporary 
employment for his cousin, which did not suit 
Louis half so well as his own position at Bruges 
had done. Louis had got leave of absence for two 
months, but that time had nearly elapsed, and he 
did not know what to do. 

He could not go home unless Rosalie asked him 
to do so. But he could not sit any longer over 
his breakfast this morning; time was up and he 
must go to his office. Monsieur Scherer stretched 
himself, yawned and departed. When he reached 
his office the porter handed him a card. 

‘‘ A lady has been here for Monsieur ; she was 
very anxious to see Monsieur, and she is waiting 
at this address.” 

A strange feeling of expectation came to Louis. 
‘‘ Who was the lady ? ” He looked eagerly at the 
card and he was disappointed. On it was written 
“ Clemence de Vos,” and the name of a hotel 
close by. 

Louis’s hand shook as he read. Why had 
Clemence come ? What news had she brought 
from Bruges ? He did not dare to conjecture as 


THE OLD COURTYARD. 


125 


he hurried on to the hotel named on the card. 

Clemeiice met him at the door. She held his 
hand while she spoke. 

I am come to fetch you home, Louis ; I have 
bad news to tell.” 

He could not speak — he only looked eagerly at 
her ; there was shame as well as anxiety in his face. 

It is not Rosalie,” Clemence said, quickly ; 
“ she has been ill, but she is better. She would 
have come herself, but, Louis, she cannot leave 
home — Loulou is ill — very ill ! ” 

“ Tell me — he is not dead ? ” Louis spoke hoarsely. 
Clemen ce’s sad face had filled him with the agony 
of a new and sudden fear. 

Was this mad freak of his to end in such a grief? 

‘‘No, he was living when I started this morning, 
but we must hasten, Louis, for I fear. It was a 
sudden attack — a kind of fit, I fancy, and the 
doctor said I must fetch you quickly.” 

Louis Scherer went with her mechanically to the 
station ; he even let her take his ticket for him 
while he stood absorbed in his fast-growing dread. 

Perhaps he had not known before how closely 
the child had got twined round his heart ; but it 
seemed as if a strong cord was tugging there 
hurrying him back to Bruges. 


126 


THE OLD COUETYAED. 


‘‘ Oh, that I had never left him ! ” This thought 
came over and over again, but he did not utter 
a word. He leaned back beside Clemence ; lie 
seemed to be listening to all she said, and yet at 
first he scarcely heard a syllable. 

“ Rosalie has been very ill,” the soft, tender 
voice said. ‘‘ Oh, so ill, Louis. They heard of 
her illness at the convent, and they sent for me ; 
she is not strong yet.” Then after a pause Cle- 
mence went on — “ Do you know why she wislied 
to get well and strong, Louis ? ” 

The direct question roused him, he looked at 
Clemence. 

‘‘ She was anxious to go to you to ask you to 
come home ; she is very sorry, and I think her 
grief caused her illness.” 

He still did not answer ; his thoughts stayed a 
little while with Rosalie, but the strongest feeling 
in Louis Scherer’s heart was love for his children — 
he was impatient to be with Loulou. 

It seemed as if the train would never reach 
Bruges ; and when at last they were fairly on their 
way to his house, his agony grew so strong that 
he leaned back in the cab and covered his face with 
his hands. Clemence went in first, and she 
beckoned him to follow her upstairs, then she 


THE OLD COURTTABD. 127 

led the way along the gallery to his wife’s room. 
They noiselessly entered. 

Rosalie was kneeling beside the bed — one arm 
was round her child. 

Loulou lay there, very pale and still ; his eyes 
were closed, but presently he opened them and 
looked at his mother. 

His father bent forward and he saw the purple 
rings under the widely-opened eyes and the death- 
pallor on the sweet little face, but Loulou's eyes 
remained fixed on his mother. 

Kiss me, darling mamma;” the little voice was 
so faint, so weary, that it seemed far far off to tlie 
two listeners. And kiss dear papa when he 
comes; he will come — dear — dear mamma ” 

The eyes closed and opened again. There was 
a little faint fluttering, and then all was still. 
Loulou was gone with the angels, gone away from 
his mother’s tears and his father’s agony of sorrow, 
and yet it may be he was closely present, praying 
for them in their sore trial. 

Clemence stole softly out of the room. There 
was perfect silence awhile, and then the man’s sor- 
row burst from him in deep, struggling sobs. 

Rosalie looked up from her silent weeping — she 
had not realized that her husband had indeed 


128 


THE OLD COURTYAItB. 


come back, and in the unlooked-for joy her new 
sorrow was hushed. 

She went to him, she took his hand, and tenderly 
kissed it ; then she clung to him. 

Louis, my Louis,” she whispered, “ forgive me. 
I will try and love you as well as Loulou loved.” 


THE OLD COUBTYABH. 


129 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BEUNITED. 

The rainy weather has passed away ; the sky is 
bright and clear. Just a few soft, gray-tinted, 
fleecy clouds take all hardness from its deep blue; 
but those days of heavy rain have spoiled the roses 
in the old courtyard : they hang their heads like 
a drenched mop. 

But the birds sing out loudly in their cages ; 
they are saying that the rain has brought a genial 
warmth into the old courtyard, and the vine leaves 
have found this out too, and are shaking them- 
selves free of their brown sheaves with surprising 
quickness. The fountain, too, sparkles merrily in 
the sunshine, and seems to be calling for its play- 
fellows, the gold-fish, to disport themselves in its 
basin. 

Clemence stands in the middle of the courtyard ; 
her mourning dress looks sad in contrast to tlie 
brightness overhead, around her, but there is no 
sorrow in her sweet, dark eyes. 

9 


130 


THE OLD COUBTYARD. 


Every now and then they turn to the arched 
passage with a look of expectatioo. 

Clemence is not looking at Elodie, however. 
Elodie stands outside the windows of the little par- 
lor, with her arms akimbo, chatting with Madame 
de Vos, who is almost as fat and pink as ever. 
The cook of the Golden Bear has evidently soft- 
ened towards the visitor ; at this moment she is 
actually instructing Madame on the most approved 
method of cooking chaffinches. 

A sound of wheels at last — they come rattling 
over the round stones of the place, and Elodie 
makes a precipitate retreat to her kitchen. It does 
not comport with her love of consistency that her 
master should find her chatting amicably with her 
old foe. 

Madame de Vos, too, shuts down her window, 
so as to keep up her character as an invalid. 

Clemence goes forward to meet her father under 
the archway ; he draws her hand fondly under his 
arm, and they come back together into the old 
courtyard. 

“ Well, father? Clemence still looks expectant. 

It is all right, my darling.” Auguste de Vos 
smiles down into her questioning eyes. I had a 
long talk, first with Louis and then with Rosalie. 


THE OLD COUBTYABD. 


131 


It is quite like old days with them. They seem 
very happy. The most hopeful sign about her is 
her loving gratitude to you, Clemence. She said 
to me, Tell her I long for lier forgiveness, and tell 
her that I owe my happiness, in this new life with 
Louis, to her sweet, unselfish love.” 

“ Hush, father,” but Clemence’s eyes are full of 
tears as she raises them in fervent thankfulness. 

Her father kissed her forehead. 

‘‘ I am not afraid of spoiling you, my child. 
What I say is only the truth, but I should like to 
learn your secret ; it could have been no easy mat- 
ter to win poor, froward Rosalie to feel as she now 
feels — that a wife is made for a husband, not a hus- 
band for a wife. Eh, what is your secret, child? ” 
I have no secret, father,” Clemence laughed 
softly. ‘‘ I only love Rosalie dearly, and I think 
she has learned to believe it.” 


THE END. 




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